


The Make of a Monster

by iscatterthemintimeandspace



Series: Of Hobbits and Hunters [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/M, Gen, Genderbending, M/M, Rule 63, fem!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-24 09:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2575820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iscatterthemintimeandspace/pseuds/iscatterthemintimeandspace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to Blood and Stars, but can be read as a stand alone fic. </p><p>He knew his job and did it well, keeping under control the local vampire and werewolf nests, ensuring people could sleep somewhat peacefully at night. He didn't need a partner.</p><p>She was done with that whole nightmare that had taken her family from her. She wanted to cook. Grow hydrangeas in her garden and never again have to wash blood from her clothes. </p><p>But then Gandalf came up, and... well, you don't say no to a retired wizard looking for the most dangerous artifact known to mankind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beng](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beng/gifts).



The hunter crept along the shadows, trying to avoid being seen by his prey. He was dressed in black clothing from head to toe, his long dark hair pulled back in a braid. In his hand was clutched a primitive stake, already wet with blood. 

The building in which the vampire was hiding was an old warehouse in Bozeman, Montana, left over from its booming industrial days. It reeked of soot and decay, the floors riddled with trash and animal droppings. The hunter kept to the walls, darting in between the beams of moonlight streaming in through the broken windows. 

He could hear his target talking in loud strident tones to her acolyte in the next room, clearly unaware she was being pursued. Thorin crept ever closer stopping by a large vacant pile of boxes right outside the door. He would wait until the leech was alone, stake her and be back out the door before the creature knew what hit her. 

He’d been tracking her for a couple weeks, clearing out the subordinate vampires one by one. It was a big nest for a town this size, which was why it had come to his attention. Large, mysterious population losses drew hunters to an area like moths to a flame. 

Thorin listened for the darkling’s footsteps. He was heavy-footed, practically stomping in comparison with his vampire companion. The hunter heard him exit and would have moved if not for the sharp knife suddenly pressed against his neck. 

“She’s mine, big boy,” a pleasant female voice told him. The hunter stilled, and the pressure on his throat released. 

He turned to find himself at the mercy of a petite female. The young woman had calming hazel eyes, tousled honey blond hair and impish features. She had donned the typical hunter’s garb, tight denim and leather, all hardy and well worn. The knife she held was more of a letter opener, short and sharp with an intricately carved handle. There was a cross bow hanging across her back, its leather strap cutting across her ample chest. 

“Says who?” he whispered back, taking pains to keep still. Small as it was, he did not want to be stuck with that knife anytime soon. 

“Says me,” she replied, her eyes sparkling. “I have personal business with this one.” 

“You can’t go in there alone!” he hissed at her, listening carefully for motion in the next room. Luckily for them, the walls were thick. 

“You were about to,” she retorted smartly. 

“I’m-,” he trailed off. “I-” he began again, only to fall short. 

“That’s what I thought,” she smirked. She began to walk towards the door, her feet making no sound.

Thorin raised a silent eyebrow. Who was this woman? He’d met female hunters before but this one had him baffled. Normally, if another hunter staked a claim for personal reasons, he would leave but this time it didn’t sit right with him. It felt different. 

Soundlessly he followed her, his eyes panning across the deserted room as they tip-toed to the door. The woman pulled at her cross bow as she stepped into the door way.

The vampire had her back turned to the tiny hunter, staring vacantly out the window. She was light-haired, with coils of tightly wound curls streaming down her back, past her shapely hips. 

“Stay here,” the woman mouthed to Thorin, who nodded wordlessly, and pulled his gun out of the holster on his thigh, just in case. He wouldn’t interfere unless she needed him to. 

“Hello, Billie,” the vampire said turning, her voice low and husky. “Nice to see you again.”

Billie leveled the cross-bow, taking aim as she stepped forward into the room. 

“Hello Lobelia, wish I could say the same,” the hunter quipped, the weapon in her hand never faltering. 

“Come to stake me, I see.” 

“Well, this sure ain’t a social visit,” Billie snapped back, stepping sideways.

“Always with the dramatics,” Lobelia drawled, moving to drape herself across the luxurious chaise longue that stood adjacent to the windows. It was clear from the décor that she had been here awhile, slowly transforming what had once been decrepit into the picture of comfort. Exquisite rugs lined a floor which had been scrubbed clean from the accumulation of grime and loose bits of tiles and screed. An ornate four poster bed with plush hangings adorned one wall. 

Billie was stonily silent, lips pursed into a tight line, her hazel eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“Revenge is such a bourgeois concept,” the vampire sneered, her expression blooming into a feral smile. Her face was stark white in contrast with her dark eyes and plump cupid’s bow lips. She was dressed in a long velvet gown, a throwback to Victorian times. Her dainty feet were unshod, nails manicured to perfection. 

_‘She clearly doesn’t think you’re a threat,’_ Thorin thought. He’d never seen such blatant disregard in a vampire before. Most leeches were smarmy bastards but this was unprecedented. He watched closely, his finger inching toward the trigger. The uneasy feeling in his stomach was growing wildly out of control, blooming into full-fledged dread. The hunter wanted to shoot the vampiress then and there, but this was not his fight. Until she was in trouble, he wouldn’t intervene, but he flicked the safety just in case. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you making some point?” Billie replied. Thorin thought he could see the twitch of a smirk on her lips. “I just see your lips flapping and tune out.”

The playful look that had graced the vampire’s finely cut features receded almost immediately, baring the true predator within. 

“I cannot abide by such rudeness,” Lobelia purred, rising effortlessly from her couch. She looked like a tawny lioness, sizing up her prey before making the kill. “Maybe I’ll give you to Otho for a present…”

“That might work, if I hadn’t already killed him.” 

_‘If she had a heart, that look would be it breaking,’_ Thorin mused as he watched the vampire’s face crumble. 

Without warning, the vampire flew at her, crossing the floor in a matter of seconds. Billie fired the cross bow a second too late, the stake skimming the creature’s shoulder instead of hitting her intended mark. The weapon was knocked from her hand, skittering out of her reach, as she hit the concrete floor soundly. 

Lobelia had size on the petite hunter, but Billie was far stronger than she looked. As the vampire lunged for her neck, she pushed her off to the side, sending her pretty face crashing into the floor. 

The vampire snarled and tried again, Billie holding her up by her shoulders, teeth gnashing angrily. Little by little the vampire got closer, using her superior strength to her advantage. Under her, the hunter was struggling to get out from under the vampire. With her cross bow lying abandoned some feet away, her only other option, if she could manage to get to it, was the stake in her belt. 

From his position, Thorin could see Billie’s arms wobbling with strain as the vampire’s deadly teeth inched closer and closer to the delicate column of her neck. Without warning, the vampire reared back and lunged, her momentum breaking through the protective curl of the smaller hunter’s arms. 

Thorin moved without thinking, pulling the trigger in rapid succession, hitting the vampire several times. 

The creature keeled over, shocked onto the floor. Billie sat up, her hair a mess, her eyes wild. 

“What was that? What did you do to her? Bullets don’t normally work on vamps,” the smaller hunter spewed, breathing heavily. She stared bewildered at the dazed vampire on the floor next to her. 

“Holy water and dead man’s blood, stops them right in their tracks. It’s not permanent through,” Thorin said, his gun still trained on the creature. He watched as Billie pulled another stake from her belt and calmly stabbed Lobelia through the heart. 

The vampiress shrieked as she began to dry up. Cracks appeared on her porcelain skin and her eyes bulged as her body crumbled into dust. 

The two hunters stood for a moment in silence as the creature gave up the ghost. 

“I’m Billie,” the smaller hunter turned to Thorin and offered her hand. 

Thorin took it, his large hand dwarfing hers. “Thorin, at your service,” he said politely, holstering his gun with his free hand. 

“Where’d you get those bullets?” she asked, retrieving her cross-bow from the floor and slinging it onto her back. 

“Made ‘em,” he answered simply, starting for the door. He didn’t generally work with other hunters, so there was no use making small talk. 

But Billie would not be shaken off. She followed him out of the door and back into the warehouse. 

“Made them?” Her eyes grew wide as they walked. “You’ll have to teach me then.” 

Thorin remained silent, his face stony, hoping the young woman would get the hint. He marched towards the field where he’d parked his car, but still she followed. 

‘Look,” she said sheepishly, twirling a short lock of hair between her fingers. “Thank you. At least let me buy you a cup of coffee, you did just save my life.” 

Normally Thorin wouldn’t even entertain the idea. He had learned early on that working with other hunters was asking for trouble. You got attached way too easily. But this woman intrigued him. She didn’t look like a hunter, with her sunny smile and soft hands. She looked like she ought to be working in a day-care, rocking children on her lap. 

“One, that’s it,” he said gruffly.

He turned back towards the woman, and when she smiled at him, Thorin already knew he was in too deep. 

~~~~~~~~~

It was halfway between his third and fourth cup of coffee that the question reared it’s ugly head. Billie (“Never call me Bilba, I hate that name!”) was finishing off her third piece of pie when she fixed him with a serious look. 

“How’d you start hunting anyway, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Thorin stiffened immediately, his large hand clenching uncomfortably around the ceramic mug. He’d never told anyone, not even his remaining sibling about his extra- curricular activities, and he wasn’t about to start now, especially not with a stranger. 

Billie’s fork hung halfway between her plate and her mouth as she waited for him to answer. Thorin fixed his mouth in a straight line, brooding over his coffee cup.

“Okay… Well, I guess you do mind then,” she squeaked, shoveling the pie into her mouth. Her cheeks had flared red at his silence, clearly embarrassed by her own question. 

An awkward silence pervaded the table, only lessened by the clink of a fork on a plate and the gentle sipping of coffee. Thorin tried to ignore the prickling guilt in his gut as he looked at the other hunter over the rim of his cup. He still couldn’t quite figure her out. Most hunters were broken souls, like him, killing because it was all they knew how to do. There was still light in Billie’s eyes, not the soul- rending emptiness that he usually saw when he looked into another hunter’s face. 

“How did you start?” he asked politely, putting his cup back on the table lightly. Billie stopped mid-bite and looked up at him again, the blush fading slightly from her face. 

“M-my mother was a hunter,” she answered, glancing at him through her honey-blond lashes. “She tried to get out of the life when she married my father, but…” her chipper voice faltered. “That’s a story for another day. I’ve kept you much too long already with my blathering.” The petite hunter smiled up at him. 

She smacked a couple bucks down on the table and got up lightly from her seat. 

“Well, thanks for saving me back there, I guess..,” she said smiling awkwardly, before turning and exiting the café, and walking out of his life. 

Or so he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thwap, thawap, thwap…**

Each punch made a muffled thumping noise as the blow hit its mark. Thorin pummeled his target, throwing rapid combinations of punches, mumbling them to himself under his breath.

“Jab, jab, cross, hook.” He could feel the sweat dripping from his pores as he doled out the beating. “Uppercut, cross, hook, cross…” 

The hunter slipped to the right, dodging the bag as it swung, countering with a precisely placed left hook to the midsection. He rebounded up, delivering a solid right uppercut. Thorin followed up with another jab, sure to send his inanimate opponent sprawling, but it came right back at him. He crossed again, shadowed by a quick, hard hook to the target’s middle. 

His lungs burned, struggling to pull in air as his fist smacked his makeshift punching bag over and over, sending the bag flailing in different directions as he hit it, the strap that held it to the tree branch twanging with each blow. 

He ducked the bag as it swung, pivoting on his front foot, planting his back on the ball of his foot The hunter threw a double jab, his knuckles stinging as he made contact with the rough canvas. 

_‘Right uppercut, left uppercut, double jab, cross, hook,’_ the voice in his head instructed as he executed the combinations, his hair in a loose plait clinging to his sweaty back. 

He peppered the bag with more punches, each with more force than the last, increasing his speed until he was a blur of motion. Thorin’s chest heaved as he took breath, muscles throbbing and thrumming under the scarred, tanned skin. 

Thorin had begun boxing when he was ten years old. After getting into several scrapes at school, his grandfather had enrolled him, hoping another outlet for his energy would curb his extra- curricular activities. The boy was a slow learner, earning himself many booming black eyes and spectacularly bruised and bleeding knuckles. But it served its intended purpose — Thorin stopped fighting at school, saving his energy for sparring and training. 

The hunter remembered his first fight more vividly than he remembered his first kiss. The sickness in his gut as he waited for his cue. The roar of the crowd as he entered the ring, his knees knocking together. The almost painful thumping of his heart against his chest. All of that had faded when he felt the first glove hit his cheek. The voices of his father and grandfather blurred with the spectators’ as he slipped and ducked against his opponent. The man was bigger than him and heavier, but Thorin had a talent for finding his adversary’s open spots and exploiting them to his advantage. 

He remembered the sound of the slap of gloves on skin, the smell of sweat in the thick, fetid air, the feel and taste of his own blood as it dribbled from his nose into his mouth. He could barely hear his trainer’s gravelly voice as he whispered instructions in Thorin’s ear after each round. 

Thorin recalled the desperation pooling in his stomach as he stepped back into the ring for the last round. He was sure he was already done for, but he had lost count who had landed more blows on who. He was exhausted, and each second felt like an eternity as the time slowly ticked by. Thorin had put his all into it, throwing punch after punch, dipping and ducking around his opponent’s fist. As the thirty second bell rang, he had felt a burst of energy, propelling him forward, raining down punches on the other fighter. When the final bell rang, the hunter had almost collapsed, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins had kept him upright. 

The only thing he was conscious of was the taste of blood as the referee raised Thorin’s hand in victory. 

There, buried in the praise, Thorin had also found the bitter tang of his first loss. He remembered it in lesser detail, the colors dimmer, the taste blander, the fight shorter as he ended it lying on the floor. Unlike the earlier memory, there was no triumph flowing through his veins, just the acrid bite of defeat. He had gone into the fight in direct opposition with his father's wishes. He couldn't back down, young and swaggering as he was, brimming with piss and vinegar. He had overlooked the glaring discrepancies in their skills, drunk on his own history of success. 

The first round was a blood bath. He'd been hit in the nose more times than he could count, his eyes thick with tears as his blood splattered on the mat. He managed a couple hits himself but by the time the bell rang he knew he was too far out of his depth. His opponent was quick, something that normally didn't accompany a man his size. Thorin had expected him to be slow and strong, not at all foreseeing the rapid-fire jabs that were sent careening into his face. By the end of the second round, his face was smeared with red, his eyes throbbing as they swelled. Thorin put up more of a fight, but in frustration his movements were sloppy, barely earning him any points. As he wobbled to his feet at the beginning of the last round, the hunter had known he was going down and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He stopped trying to win and retreated to his defense. 

Any fight you finished on your feet was a good fight. 

But he hadn’t finished. Despite his feeble attempts to block the blows that rained down on his head, a left hook found its way to his head, sending him down to the mat. The blood spurted out of his broken nose as he hit the floor on his face, unable to keep his vision from going dark. Thorin awoke sick to his stomach with rage, surrounded by medics, mopping up his face with gauze. 

A quiet movement behind him broke him from his memories, the remembered fury still pumping sluggishly through his blood. Thorin mentally berated himself for allowing whatever it was to get so close. It was too late to grab his weapons, leaning against the opposite side of the tree. Thinking quickly, the hunter spun on his heel, throwing a left hook towards the person behind him. As the person’s face came into view, his fist stopped short, just shy of the taller man’s ribcage. 

“Gandalf!” Thorin exclaimed, raking his free hand through his badly tangled hair. “I could have killed you!” 

In front of him stood Gandalf “The Grey” Istari, an old friend, although Thorin used the term loosely. Thorin had worked several cases with him in the past, and the man seemed to pop up whenever anything particularly unpleasant reared its head. A feeling of apprehension began to swell in the hunter’s chest. 

“Nonsense, Thorin,” the grey-haired man waved at the air theatrically. He was wearing a threadbare dark suit and a complimentary shirt and tie in varying shades of grey. “What are you doing in this neck of the woods?” 

Still breathing heavily, Thorin put his throbbing hands on his hips. “Just finished a case,” he intoned deeply. 

“So you would be free then?” Gandalf asked, a roguish smile curling the corners of his lips. 

_‘I knew it,’_ Thorin thought triumphantly to himself. The old man never called unless he needed something, and that something was likely to get Thorin killed. 

“So it would seem,” Thorin answered back, walking to the tree and reaching for his towel. He was covered in sweat, his heart still pumping frantically from the exercise. 

 

Gandalf cleared his throat loudly. 

“I have a case for you, if you choose to accept it,” the taller man said, a tantalizing hook in his pleasant voice. “More of an adventure than a case really…” He trailed off as if still in thought. 

“An adventure?” Thorin replied, intrigued by the proposition. “I’m listening.”

Taking a seat, Gandalf began to spin a tale that even Thorin with all his supernatural experiences found hard to believe.

He was looking for the Arkenstone, a powerful magic object that grants its bearer wishes beyond their wildest dreams. At first, it was like a dream come true, anything you wanted was yours with a snap of your fingers. Wealth, love, power, — you name it, and it was yours. That was until, the wishes started going bad in ironic proportions. A man who wished for wealth would die in a botched robbery attempt. A woman who wished for her dream partner would be murdered by her jealous lover. A person who wished for power would be driven mad. The stone had claimed the life of every person who had owned it so far. 

“And you need me for this why?” Thorin asked, mopping the last remnants of sweat off his torso. Acquiring the stone seemed like an easy enough job, especially for someone as connected as Gandalf. 

“I need skilled hunters, Thorin. It’s not as simple as it seems. There are all sorts of measures protecting the stone,” Gandalf continued, his voice soft. “Enchantments, monsters, tasks…”

Thorin stopped for a moment, listening as he pulled his shirt over his head. Monsters he could handle, monsters were easy, but enchantments? Magic was something he avoided if he could. 

“Gandalf, I don’t mess with magic…” 

“You won’t be alone, of course,” Gandalf abruptly cut him off, leaving him hanging in mid-protest. 

“I have a couple of people I’d like you to meet…”

~~~~~~~~~

Thorin tersely rubbed his temples as he drove. He still had no idea how Gandalf had managed to talk him into another case, again. No matter how much he protested, somehow he always ended up doing whatever he told himself he would not do. 

Gandalf was currently sleeping in the passenger’s seat of Thorin’s truck, tucked into an impossibly tight curl, beard fluttering in his exhaling breaths. 

According to the old charlatan, the meeting place he had picked wasn’t far from where Gandalf had found him, yet they were still in the car after 3 hours of roundabouts, missing signs and blocked dirt roads, strewn with rotted trees and broken branches

Thorin turned onto yet another dirt road, following the directions the grey-haired wanderer had jotted down for him, his truck bouncing hazardously on its struts. He slowed to a crawl, hoping not to do more damage. Miraculously, the old man stayed asleep despite his head knocking against the window. 

The hunter stopped when he reached a seemingly abandoned cabin, pulling into the overgrown grass that had taken over the yard. Thorin could tell someone had lived here once, the yard surrounding the house clear of trees and undergrowth. As he scanned the lawn and the surrounding trees, Gandalf stirred with a loud yawn, stretching his long limbs as best he was able in the confined space of the truck’s cab. 

“Ah we’re here then.” He yawned again, reaching to open the door. He stepped out lightly onto the grass, straightening up to his full, imposing height. He strode across the lawn, the tall thin stalks of grass bending under his footfalls., Thorin followed him close behind. The boards of the steps creaked pitifully as the grey-haired man ascended them, wiggling the door gingerly. 

To Thorin’s surprise, the door opened easily and he followed Gandalf in. The hunter’s breath caught in his throat. Despite the decrepit appearance of the cabin, the inside radiated lived-in comfort. The wooden planks of the floor were swathed in plush rugs, two large wingback chairs stood guard over the dormant, but clearly used fireplace. There was a delicious smell pervading the small room, sending Thorin’s stomach into a fit of grumbles. Looking around, the hunter got a feeling of déjà vu, as if he’d seen some of the furniture before, the chaise lounge in particular looked too luxuriant for the other furniture. 

“It would seem our host is out,” Gandalf murmured lowly, sweeping his suit jacket of f his shoulders and onto the wrought iron coat rack that stood by the door. 

“What do we do now?” Thorin asked, his stomach rumbling in a fit on sudden hunger. 

“Now we wait.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Thorin was dozing by the fireplace when a loud rap came from the door. Gandalf, who had been reading at the kitchen table, got up to answer it. The man who entered was the largest man Thorin had ever seen, and he recognized him immediately. 

“Dwalin,” Thorin smiled, rising from the comfortable arm chair and crossing the room to shake his friend’s hand. 

Dwalin was one of the only hunters Thorin had ever allowed himself to work with. They’d met some years ago, on one of his early hunts. Dwalin was one of the best hunters he knew, saving his stupid neck time and time again. 

The larger man returned the smile, pulling Thorin into a quick man hug. “Who else are we waiting for?” Dwalin asked, eyeing Gandalf wearily. 

“Two more,” the old man replied cryptically. 

“Make that one.” Another, smaller man entered the room. His long, red hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, his mouth curled into a provocative shark’s smile. Thorin flicked his eyes back and forth, gauging the reactions of his companions. 

Off to the side, Gandalf had a light smile on his face, his eyes twinkling. Dwalin, on the other hand, had gone completely rigid, any former traces of joviality wiped from his face. 

“Thief!” he spat, starting towards the sly-looking new-comer. 

“Gentlemen, may I introduce Nori... Nori, is it now? I can never keep track…,” Gandalf mumbled.

The red-headed man bowed stiffly, keeping his eyes glued to Dwalin, smile still firmly plastered on his handsome face. 

“We’ve met,” the bigger man barked in response. Thorin watched his friend closely and began to put two and two together. He thought he knew who Nori was. Dwalin had told tales when they’d been on hunts together of a man who dealt in supernatural items. He’d taken a couple right out from under Dwalin’s nose, much to his chagrin. 

“Nice to see you again… Dwalin is it?” Nori proffered a conciliatory hand towards the two hunters, smirking again. Thorin almost laughed at the thunderstruck look on his friend’s face, but kept his own council. He took the man’s hand, giving it a firm shake. 

“Thorin,” the hunter offered back, just as the door swung open again. 

“Gandalf,” said an annoyed voice. “I told you when I was going to be home. I will never understand why you insist on ignoring that. This is the last time, I will not stand for such intrusion. The last time, I tell you!…”

Gandalf was smiling as he looked down upon the tiny ranting figure, struggling with two gigantic bags of groceries. 

“Miss Bilba Baggins, the last member of our company,” Gandalf explained with a sweeping gesture and an amused smile.

Thorin’s eyes grew wide in recognition as the cabin owner’s face came into view. The woman from Bozeman. 

The small hunter turned around to face the occupants of her house, ferociously scowling at each of the men in turn, until she reached Thorin. The brown paper bags she had been carrying slipped noisily from her arms, spewing their contents onto the wooden floor. Produce rolled every which way, but she made no attempt to stop it as she stared him down. 

Billie’s impish face began to glow crimson as a pretty blush consumed her features.

“You.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan begins to take shape and Gandalf really enjoys playing match-mater.

“YOU.”

A curious silence fell over the cabin as the two hunters stared at each other. Thorin’s eyes traveled unabashedly down her body. If it hadn’t been for her face, he never would have recognized her out of her hunter’s garb. Instead of the tight denim, their host was dressed in a worn green dress, bringing out the color in her hazel eyes. The garment fell to her knees, revealing small, thick calves and beat-up black flats covering her feet. The hunter had not noticed how rounded her figure was the first time they met and found himself trying to fight the blush that was rising up his neck. 

Thorin swallowed thickly. “Erm… Hello again, Billie,” he stammered, avoiding the amused smile that took over Dwalin’s face. 

Gandalf cleared his throat loudly, eyeing them with a twinkle of mirth dancing in his eyes. 

“Well, as it would seem everyone is here now, we should start our meeting,” he said, bending to pick up one of the errant vegetables that had tumbled out of Billie’s bag. 

Billie seemed to have regained herself and ducked out of sight, chasing her groceries across the room, her face still as red as an apple. Thorin knelt to help her, only to have his hands slapped away by the flustered female. 

“It’s alright. I’ve got it. Sit please,” she mumbled, grabbing a large pepper that had come to rest by Thorin’s foot. “I’m being a terrible host.” 

In no time at all, Billie had corralled her wayward produce and tucked it all away in the kitchen, the rest of them merely watching, at her express insistence. 

Nori and Dwalin just shrugged their shoulders and took a seat at the table, just as Billie placed the most delicious looking apple pie at the center. She began to hurry back for the plates and forks. 

“I’ve got them,” Thorin said hurriedly, eager to help out. He stepped into the small kitchen and pulled open the silverware drawer with a loud rusty clang. It was empty and dirty, dust mounded in the wooden corners. The hunter stared for a moment, perplexed, before going for his next best option: the dishwasher. 

He opened the battered dishwasher and pulled out the dish tray, only there were no dishes. Instead, there were several sharpened stakes, and a plethora of silver knives. There was a silver flask for holy water and several other weapons he couldn’t name. No forks or spoons, no dishes, just hunter’s tools, in a bloody dishwasher! Something warm bloomed in his chest as he cupped his hand over his mouth to stifle the peal of laughter trying to escape. 

Thorin laughed wildly, unable to stop himself. Billie rushed over, an alarmed look on her face, only to find the full-grown man helpless in a fit of giggles over her dishwasher. 

“What’s so funny?” she demanded at once, stomping her foot. 

The hunter wiped a tear from his eyes, trying to catch his breath. “Really?” he answered, once he could form words again. “That’s how you wash your stakes?” 

The hard look on her face intensified. “GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN!” she bellowed, her loud voice at odds with her small size. The pint-sized woman gave him a sturdy shove out of the doorway. 

Thorin chuckled again as she pushed him. He caught Dwalin’s eyes as he stumbled out of the kitchen, causing his friend to join in his laughter. Billie shot the bald hunter a look so venomous it could have killed someone. He stopped at once, busying himself with the fraying placemat in front of him. The small hunter turned back to her kitchen.

“Oh dear,” she mumbled to herself, retrieving her chipped china and mismatched silverware from the cupboard. “I don’t seem to have enough forks.”

The dark-haired hunter almost laughed again, but composed himself and took a seat at the table. Billie quietly laid the plates out in front of everyone and then began to cut the pie with a silver knife, one eerily similar to the one Thorin kept in his kit. 

He didn’t know what had come over him in the kitchen. He was not normally one to laugh easily. Thorin watched the small hunter another moment as she laid out crooked slices of pie in front of them. She was trying to avoid meeting his eyes, instead focusing on other parts of him, his shoulder, his hands, his chest. 

As she slid the last slice in front of Gandalf, the old man began to talk. 

“Thank you, my dear. Now, I’ve gathered you all here to take part in a little adventure,” he began, looking at each of them in turn. Billie slid carefully in the last vacant seat next to Thorin, her eyes never leaving Gandalf. 

“The information I have, thanks to Master Nori,” he said as the red-head nodded slyly, his mouth full of pie, “is that the stone is currently locked away, under the protection of a woman known as Azog.” 

Thorin felt Dwalin still beside him, and he watched the giant look up from his pie. His face was suddenly drawn and motionless. 

“If she has it,” Dwalin murmured, his normally deep voice slowed to a quiet growl. “This quest is over before it’s begun.” 

Thorin’s curiosity peaked as he stared at his old friend. Dwalin was fearless, taking on banshees and beasts without question. This woman must be truly terrible if she reduced him to this. Gandalf’s lips quirked as if he was amused, but he didn’t smile. 

“I’ve seen where she keeps her things,” Dwalin continued, his eyes sweeping the table. Thorin recognized a barely concealed look of fear. “There’s no way in and no way out. It’s a fortress.”

Across the table, Nori’s brilliant white smile peeked through his lips once again. He looked like a cat who had swallowed the canary, stuffed and smug. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, my friend,” the red-head answered. Dwalin scowled at him. “I know on good authority that Azog will be moving several of her more… valuable… pieces before the last days of autumn.” 

“Whose authority?” the larger man growled in response. “Thieves and liars!” he roared, slamming his meaty palms on the table. Billie squeaked in surprise, pushing back on her chair. 

“Now gentlemen, mind your manners please,” reminded Gandalf gently, his eyes twinkling with amusement in spite of his admonishment. 

Dwalin sat back, his eyes not leaving the red-haired man, whose grin had dimmed some. Despite his bravado, Thorin could tell Nori was shaken beneath his impregnable poise. 

“As you’ve said,” Nori started again, watching Dwalin cautiously, “Azog is formidable, but she’ll be vulnerable in transit. It’s our only shot.” 

The giant glowered again, but didn’t disagree. “She’ll travel with as little fanfare as possible. She knows taking more men than she needs will just attract unneeded attention.” 

“We’ll need someone inconspicuous then. Someone who can sneak by undetected…” Thorin added, looking between the two men. Azog would be expecting men, big rough- looking hunters. There was no way their company would sneak by unnoted except…

Suddenly Gandalf’s choice of venue made perfect sense. 

Each set of eyes came to rest on the petite hunter. Billie looked at each of them back in turn, a scared look taking over her face. 

“W-w-why are you all l-l-looking at me like t-t-that?” she stuttered, wrapping her arms protectively around herself. 

Thorin was floored by the change from the last time he had seen her. Gone was the bubbly hunter with the nonchalant attitude, replaced by a woman with a haunted look in her eyes and a tremor in her hand. What had happened to her in the months since he’d seen her last? 

Gandalf just smiled at her, the wrinkles on the side of his eyes growing deeper. He looked down at her as a grandfather would look at his favorite grandchild. 

“Billie…” he began. 

“No, Gandalf… I’m retiring, I told you. No more…” The blonde hunter was slowly uncurling, her frightened face morphing into hardened stone. “No more killing, no more death,” she snapped.

“If we don’t do something about this, there will be,” he answered gently, still smiling at her. “Azog and her associates have something worse planned for the stone. If we don’t do something, it would rival the Fell Winter in casualties…” 

Billie’s face blanched at the last sentence, all color running from her cherubic cheeks. Her full mouth was set in a hard line, her whole face as rigid as a plank of wood. Thorin could practically see her mind working, the cogs of her brain set in motion by the grey man’s words. He could see the hesitance in the way she held herself, and the fear shining deep in her hazel eyes. 

For a moment, the whole room was silent, only punctuated by the small hunter’s shallow breaths. 

“Alright,” she said finally, the word rolling slowly off her tongue. “This is it though, Gandalf. Don’t expect any more favors.” 

With that, she left the four men standing in her dining room as she flung open the front door and retreated outside. 

The hunters exchanged looks, and Dwalin shrugged his shoulders. 

“Women.” 

~~~~~~~

Thorin was starting to get worried. It had gotten late and Billie hadn’t returned to the house. Since they still had much to discuss, they, or Gandalf rather, decided to spend the night. The others were dubious at first, not wanting to intrude and upset their hostess any more than they had already done. But the old man insisted, retrieving blankets and sleeping bags from the attic as if he lived there. He took the spare room for himself, letting Dwaling, Nori and Thorin fight for room in the den. 

The two other men had gone to bed, leaving Thorin sitting up, worried despite Gandalf repeatedly reassuring the hunter that Billie was fine. 

He was not so sure. 

Taking his leather jacket from the back of the chair, he began to walk out the door, only to find their hostess, sitting silently on the front steps with her face pressed into her knees. 

“It’s awfully cold out here,” he said awkwardly, sitting down on the step next to her. 

Billie started, bolting upright, but relaxed when she saw it was only Thorin. 

“I’m sorry… You must think I’m such a bad hostess,” she mumbled, running her hand absentmindedly through her tousled curls. 

“Not at all,” he answered honestly. “Truth be told… I hadn’t expected much of anything. Serves us right, I guess, showing up unannounced ...” the hunter added sheepishly. 

“No. I knew you were… well… that he was coming at least. But you know Gandalf… Never late, never early, arrive exactly when he means to,” she mimicked the grey man’s somber way of talking. 

Thorin gave out a small chuckle. 

“So what’s this about retiring?” he asked her gently. He could see she was still agitated from before, her body as taut as a bowstring. “Hunters don’t retire at least not any that I’ve heard of.”

“Most hunters don’t get the chance,” she replied bitterly. “We die young, leaving nothing but blood and broken families behind us.” 

He thought of his own family, or what was left of it. His parents had been dead for years, his brother lost to monsters. Only Dis was left, his beloved younger sister, tucked safely away at her college in New York. 

“I’ve seen enough, Thorin. I lost both my parents. I’m alone. You at least had a normal life before., I was born into this…” she trailed off, all of a sudden looking like she had said something she shouldn’t have. 

Thorin felt his ears go red. “How do you know that?” he demanded, suddenly furious. He had never told her that, in fact, he distinctly remembered not telling her that. 

Billie looked down. “G-Gandalf told me... I ran into him shortly after the warehouse... a-and I asked him if he knew you,” she stuttered. “He told me about your brother.”   
The hunter felt all the air leave his lungs, and the anger with it. It wasn’t her fault Gandalf had loose lips. 

‘That cheeky bastard,’ he thought, shaking his head and rubbing his face with his hands. ‘His nose in everyone else’s business.’ 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s none of my business-”

“It’s fine,” Thorin said, cutting her off mid- sentence. “I just don’t like to talk about it, that’s all.” 

Billie nodded, a faraway look in her eyes. “I know the feeling,” she smiled ruefully at him.

“How much do you know about Azog?” the bigger hunter queried. It was obvious to him, by her reaction inside that she, like Dwalin knew about this woman. 

“Too much and not enough,” Billie replied, clearly grateful for a change in subject. She seemed as closed off as him when it came to her family. 

“She’s a hunter, from what I’ve heard.” 

“We’re stealing from another hunter?” 

“She’s not just any hunter, Thorin.” Billie wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, rubbing her hands up and down the length of her thin sweater. “She kills without distinction, human or monster. Anyone who gets in her way.” 

Thorin shrugged out of his jacket, placing it around the shivering woman. It was huge on her, making her look like a child playing dress-up. 

“Do you trust him? Gandalf, I mean,” he asked her. 

“Not as far as I can throw him. But he’s right,” Billie murmured. “If Azog really has this Arkenstone, no one is safe.” 

Thorin inhaled slowly, leaning back on his hands thoughtfully. He looked up into the sky, gazing carefully at the stars. They were bright out here, with no light pollution to dull their luster, no clouds to block them out. 

“I can see why you chose here, it’s beautiful,” he said finally, hoping to ease some of her agitation by putting Azog behind them, at least for the moment. 

“It’s quiet. No one can find me out here, unless they already know where it is,” she said, her voice mellowing out. She leaned closer to him, tilting her head so it was almost on his shoulder. 

Thorin became painfully aware of how small she was next to him, of the texture of her curls as they brushed his shoulder, of the flowery smell of her shampoo. 

“Thorin?” she asked suddenly, turning her face towards him, her eyes questioning why he had gone so silent. 

He could see every lash, every pretty freckle sprayed across her button nose. He leaned closer, feeling her breath across his lips… 

Billie popped up suddenly, knocking the startled hunter on to his back. He blinked rapidly up at her standing above him, looking flustered, her pupils blown wide.

“If it’s okay with you, Mister Oakenshield. I should be getting to bed, lots to do in the morning…” she squeaked, her words blending together in one rapid sentence. She opened the door and, giving him one last heated glance, disappeared inside. 

Thorin, still lying startled on the porch, pounded his fist against the steps in frustration.

 _‘I didn’t tell her my last name either…’_ he realized. 

“Bugger!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to beng for her encouragement and comments.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Best laid plans are best made with full bellies.

Thorin woke up to the most wonderful scent of frying bacon pervading the air, easing him into consciousness in the best way he could imagine. The hunter sat up, stretching and riding the cricks from his bones from a night of sleeping on the hard wooden floor.

Around him, the others were waking as well, Nori and Dwalin stirring from their respective places on the floor and couch. Thorin could hear furious bangs and movement coming from the kitchen. He got up from the floor, leaving his shirt where he had taken it off the night before. Carefully, the hunter peaked into the kitchen.

Billie was flipping hotcakes at the stove with one hand, and scrambling eggs in a bowl with the other. She was wearing a blue dress, newer than the last, over which she had tied well-worn patterned apron. There were trays of scones and homemade donuts cooling on wire racks on the counter. Nearly every surface in the small room was covered with something piping hot and delicious. 

“Close your mouth, lad. You'll catch flies.” Thorin found himself being shoved playfully from behind. He turned to find Dwalin standing behind him, a knowing, smug look on his face.

“Oh come off it,” Thorin replied, giving his friend a light push in response.

But their banter had broken the spell. Billie turned to look at them, her curly hair tied back and flour smudged endearingly on her cheek. She did not meet Thorin’s eyes, choosing instead to stare past him before turning back around with a flustered look.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said over her shoulder, surprisingly chipper, taking the last of the pancakes out of the skillet and pouring the scrambled eggs in. 

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Thorin asked politely, hoping she would look at him. The hunter was slightly embarrassed about his behavior the night before.

“No, thank you. I’m nearly done, but there’s coffee in the pot and cups in the cabinet. Help yourself,” she replied, not moving from her post in front of the stove. She was nervously adding ingredients to what looked like a giant vegetable omelet.

Dwalin was more than happy to oblige and before long, had settled himself at the kitchen table with a hot mug of coffee steaming in from of him. The brunet hunter lingered in the kitchen doorway, trying to think of some way to apologize. He hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable, and now he looked like an idiot. Finally, he gave up and, retrieving his wrinkled shirt from the floor, joined Dwalin at the table, unable to string together the correct mixture of words in his head. 

Nori was still seated on the couch where he had slept, meticulously doing his hair. It was long, although not as long as Thorin’s messy mop, and the con artist was working the bed-head out with a silver comb. Dwalin looked over at the red- head and, catching Thorin’s eyes, smirked.

No sooner had Billie started putting plates on the table, than Gandalf appeared out of the extra bedroom, wearing a grey sweater and a pair of slacks. 

“Good morning,” he said brightly, joining the rest of the company at the table. Billie hurried out of the kitchen, arms laden with food. One by one she set the down plates, scones and muffins, donuts and pancakes. As soon as she’d finished, she returned to the other room to get more.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” asked Thorin again, pushing up from his seat to help her.

“Yes Thorin. I’m a girl, not an invalid,” the smaller hunter retorted patiently from the other room. She returned a second later, her arms sagging with the weight of the rest of the food.

“I’ve killed vampires before, I can carry a few plates,” Billie added cheekily, placing a large omelet in front of him. 

Dwalin choked, sputtering into his coffee cup. Thorin scowled at him from his seat, a feeling of relief washing over him that the smaller hunter wasn’t upset with him.

She returned to the kitchen, a large smile plastered across her face, this time coming back only with a lone cup of tea, which she placed in front of Gandalf.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said lightly. “We still have a lot to discuss, but first —breakfast!”

Thorin could not remember the last time he had had a homemade breakfast, or breakfast at all for that matter. He rarely ate when he was on a job, running on coffee and adrenaline. Now, he helped himself to a bit of everything and dug in greedily, washing hearty mouthfuls down with his coffee.

Around him, the others followed suit, digging in with relish. There were no voices heard until they went for their second helpings, the absence of food in their mouths and on their plates allowing for conversation.

“Now, as I was saying, we still have a lot to talk about,” Gandalf began again, taking a delicate sip from his tea cup. “There’s still a lot to do before getting the stone itself. Intelligence to gather, ingredients to procure. We’ll need to split up, as each person will have a job to do.”

Nori, and Dwalin were still engrossed in their plates, but Billie and Thorin were watching Gandalf intently, forks stilled.

“Nori, I need you to gather intelligence, anything and everything you can find out about Azog, her associates or the stone.” The red-head stopped eating for a moment to give the old man a small nod.

“Dwalin,” Gandalf moved on, eyeing the large hunter. “I need you on surveillance. Azog’s bunker is in Kansas. I’ll give you the exact coordinates. Anything goes in or out, I want to know about it.”

Finally the old man turned to the last two hunters, meeting each of their eyes in turn. 

“Now you two,” he smiled mischievously. “You two I have a special mission for.”

Thorin felt a bubble of dread expanding in his chest. He didn't like it when Gandalf's eyes twinkled like that. It usually meant bad things for him. The hunter looked over at Billie, who by the look on her face, was having similar thoughts.

“I need you to fetch a couple things.”

“What sort of things?” Billie questioned, mopping syrup from her plate with a bit of pancake. “We're hunters, not porters.”

Thorin smirked, ducking his head to hide the smile on his face, and then chided himself. What was wrong with him?

The old man grinned himself. “The fang of an alpha vampire, the claw of an alpha werewolf, a dragon scale and the feather of an angel.” 

“That's impossible, Gandalf,” Thorin sputtered, not quite believing what he was hearing. “Angels don't exist!” 

“Yes, they do,” someone replied so quietly the hunter wasn't even sure he had heard him. 

It was the first time Thorin had seen the red-headed thief without a smile on his face. “What now?”

“I said yes, they do,” Nori repeated slowly, his countenance looking strangely blank. “I've seen them.” 

“You’ve seen an angel?” Dwalin put in incredulously. “A real live angel?” His seeming mistrust of the thief melted away as he spoke, curiosity overriding his perpetual wariness.

Nori swallowed thickly before he spoke again. “It started out alive…” He trailed off as if the memory was too painful to relay. 

“You…killed an angel?” Billie’s voice was heard now, heavily tinged with confusion. 

“No! No, no, no!” Nori stammered, waving his hands in front of him, palms facing outward in a defensive gesture. “I didn’t even touch it… him… I-I-It was A-Azog’s-”  
The red-head stopped suddenly, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He then took a deep drink of his coffee and continued. 

“I didn’t kill him,” he began again, avoiding Dwalin’s eyes. “I, on occasion work with Azog, when the money is good enough. I had some harmless items she wanted to look at, so I brought them around to one of her houses.” 

Thorin’s eyes passed from one hunter to another as the con man spoke. Dwalin looked absolutely murderous, his hands clenching on the table, muttering madly under his breath. Billie was absentmindedly playing with her fork, her fingers fidgeting with the object. Gandalf was watching in amusement, that infuriating twinkle still sparkling in his grey eyes. 

“She had him there chained, in her living room like some bloody hunting trophy, thumbscrews pushed into his head. She was talking to me like nothing was wrong.” All the blood drained out of Nori’s face as he struggled on. “When he saw me, he started to moan, and she killed him.” 

“Just like that?” Billie asked, her voice shaking. She was pale like Nori, her cheeks vacant of their usual color. 

“Just like that. Like she was swatting a fly,” the red-head answered, drinking from his cup again. With shaking hands, he groped under his coat and produced a small battered flask. 

“Why did she have it? How did she get it?” the small blonde queried, her curiosity clearly getting the better of her fear. She leaned forward on her elbows. 

“She wanted its heart. Beyond that, I don’t know and I didn’t ask,” the thief replied, tipping the flask over his cup.

Billie leaned back in her seat, biting her lip nervously. Thorin watched her covertly over the rim of his coffee cup. 

“So they are real, but how do we get one?” he asked, looking over at Gandalf. If there was anyone that knew about supernatural creatures it was him. 

He gave Thorin an infuriating smile. “Ha, it’s not that easy, Master Oakenshield. Angel feathers must be freely given, or they crumble into dust.” 

“Lovely,” the brunet hunter grumbled, running his fingers through his tangled hair in frustration. It was giving him a headache. “So we have to make friends with it first.” 

“I take it that’s not your strong suit, then?” Nori cracked, flashing his taunting shark’s smile again. He seemed to have recovered from his tale, in part no doubt due to the liquid he thinned his coffee with. 

Thorin scowled back at him. 

“We can save that for last,” Billie chirped, trying to defuse the tension between the two men. “The other things are comparably easy.”

“Yes, because dragons are so common,” the brunet hunter groused at her.

“Not common, per se, but I know a guy,” she challenged back, a smug smile now gracing her lips. 

Thorin rolled his eyes as his temples started pounding from the pressure of an oncoming migraine. This was going to be a long year.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin and Billie get to know each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to update! The past month has been very up and down, I'll try to stick to a more regular schedule!

_‘If I have to listen to one more complaint, I’m just going to drive off the road,’_ Thorin thought, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

He and Billie had been driving for ten hours, and she hadn’t stopped talking once. The hunter swore his eardrums were bleeding from such noxious abuse. 

“- I miss my chair, by the hearth,” Billie droned on, yet another grievance waiting to spill over her lips. Thorin could take it no more. 

“Enough!” he shouted, his voice coming out a lot louder than he had intended. He immediately regretted even opening his mouth. 

The smaller hunter quieted instantly, erupting instead into a torrent of startled hiccups. 

“I-I’m sorry,” she murmured, covering her mouth with her hands. “I tend to- hic- talk too much –hic- when I’m –hic- nervous.” 

Thorin glanced at her sideways. She looked like a scolded child, her face turned down, hands wringing in her lap. 

“I didn’t mean to yell,’ he began gruffly. “I’m sorry.” 

Billie made no noise, didn’t even look at him. Thorin kicked himself mentally. He knew he wasn’t good with people, why had he agreed to this trip in the first place? 

“You tried to get out of it, remember?” a nasty little voice in the back of his head reminded. After Billie had finished explaining about the dragon, he had suggested they split up, to cover more ground. It only made sense, he argued, two hunters working separately would get more done than two hunters working together, but Gandalf had been adamant, that it would only work with the two of them staying together. They were hunting alpha monsters, not your run- of- the- mill creatures, the grey man had reminded him. You’ll be safer with a partner he'd said, but Thorin suspected he had ulterior motives. 

“Why are you nervous?” he enquired, trying to change the subject. “You’re a hunter. It’s not like you haven’t killed leeches before.”

“Have you ever gone after an alpha before?” Billie asked, suddenly turning towards him. A hard, cold look had overtaken her face and Thorin noticed her hands had begun to shake. 

“No but-”

“No buts. They are smarter, faster and more ruthless than any monster you’ve ever faced,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. “One slip-up, and you’re dead. One tiny hesitation, and you’re done for. There can be no mistakes with alphas, Thorin.” 

The smaller hunter wiggled in her seat, and rucked up the side of the shirt she was wearing. There, scrawled across her ribcage, were deep claw marks, faded to white with age. 

Thorin swallowed thickly before quickly averting his eyes.

“Alpha shifter,. I was seventeen. Tried to go after one by myself.” She laughed mirthlessly, pulling down her shirt again. “Barely escaped. He broke both my legs, ruptured my appendix, clawed me all the way down to the bone. Another inch or so, and I’d have been a goner.”

Thorin looked at her sadly. Seventeen was far too young to be hunting alone. He couldn’t imagine growing up knowing what lingered in the dark. Billie had learned to shoot a gun when she should have been playing with dolls. No wonder she’d been so resistant to coming along. She had finally gotten out, and Gandalf sucked her right back in, and Thorin had helped him. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Billie smiled sadly. “Don’t you dare give me that look.” 

“What look?” he asked defensively, trying to rearrange his face. 

“Pity,” she responded. “I don’t need your pity.” In another octave, it would have sounded bitter, but there was no acid in her tone, only pragmatism. 

“I wasn’t… I don’t… I’m sorry,” he sputtered.

Billie took a deep breath and changed the subject.. “We can’t go in there, guns blazing and just expect it to turn out alright. We have to plan for it.”

“How do we do that?” Thorin questioned, his eyes still glued to the road in front of him. 

“That’s why we’re going to Rivendell. There's no person on Earth who knows more about alphas and supernatural creatures than Elrond.”

The older hunter almost sniggered at the moniker. _‘Sounds like some poncy rich boy’s name,’_ he thought to himself. 

“How do you know him?” he asked instead, saving his derogatory thoughts for himself. 

“He’s an old friend of my mum’s,” Billie explained, her hands in her lap unclenching. The more they actually talked, instead of her only complaining, the calmer she seemed. Thorin looked away, still feeling the residual guilt from his earlier uncalled-for outburst. 

“You said your mum was retired. How old of a friend are we talking? ” he ventured, trying to tread lightly. He knew from their last meeting that her mother was dead, ripped out of her retirement by the cruel remnants of her past. 

“She was,” the smaller hunter murmured. “He was her friend from before. I've never met him.” 

“How did he come by all this information?” Thorin followed up. It didn’t feel right, driving halfway across the country to find a man whom Billie had never met. 

“Why are you asking so many damn questions?” Billie retorted, a smirk just barely concealed on her lips. “It’s like you don’t trust me!” 

“I barely know you,” Thorin defended himself. “And I’m a hunter, I trust no one.” 

The small lass rolled her eyes and sighed deeply. She then held out her hand, like she wanted him to shake it. Thorin gave her a confused look and kept his hands on the steering wheel. 

“Hello, I’m Billie Baggins. A twenty–something semi- retired hunter. Born in Helena, Montana, to Belladonna and Bungo Baggins. Both my parents were killed by vampires. I like killing monsters, pina coladas and getting caught in the rain.” 

Thorin stared at her and quirked an eyebrow. 

The smaller hunter returned the look and then wrinkled her nose at him. “Your turn!”

“Uh,” he started, not even knowing where to begin or what to say. “I’m Thorin Oakenshield, I’m thirty-two years old, and um... ” he mumbled. “I have a younger sister, who just started college. I was born in Cortlandville, New York. I like staking vampires, whiskey, and that’s it.” 

Billie wrinkled her nose at him again. “That can’t be it,” she stated, sounding as if she was trying to stifle a laugh. “Don’t you have any hobbies? Likes? Dislikes?” 

Thorin sighed heavily. He hated talking about himself, especially about his family life. Everyone in his family was dead, save Dis, and no one ever understood. He hadn't just lost his family to normal circumstances, he’d lost them to blood-thirsty creatures he hadn’t been prepared for. 

Then suddenly it dawned on him.

' _But Billie would understand,’_ said the nasty voice in his head. ‘She’s the only one that would understand, and you keep trying to push her away.’

_‘She’s better off away from me,’_ he told the voice sternly. _‘People around me end up dead and worse than dead.’_

_'In case you didn’t notice, the same thing happened to her. Her family is gone, killed by the same thing as yours. You don’t see her bitching, do you?’_ the voice sniggered again. 

For once in his life, Thorin had to agree with the voice. Despite the fact that Billie was completely alone in the world, she wasn’t pulling away from people. She had even agreed to help them despite the fact she wanted to get out of hunting for good. 

A snap of her fingers brought him back to himself. 

“Uh, Thorin?” Billie called at him, snapping her fingers next to his ear. “Earth to Thorin, are you there?” 

“Yeah sorry,” he murmured, looking at her out the side of his field of vision. “I’m fine, just thinking.” 

The smaller hunter looked at him as if pleading for him to open up. When he said nothing, she turned in her seat, putting her feet on the dash board and staring defiantly out the windshield, arms crossed over her chest. 

“I have a brother too,” he said finally, his voice barely audible. “Well, had. He died when I was eighteen. Killed by vampires. He got caught up in a bad crowd. From what I could gather.” Thorin cleared his throat for a second, trying to banish the small tickling feeling that normally accompanied crying. “He was- He became a darkling, a feeder to some, and then they killed him.” 

“I’m sorry,” Billie mumbled, uncrossing her arms. And then she did something he never would have expected: she grabbed his hand from the steering wheel and grasped it tightly. 

Thorin looked from their joined hands to her face. He thought about pulling his hand back, to push her away yet again, but the warmth of her small hand in his felt… good, so he just let it be. 

A deep blush was slowly creeping across Billie’s freckled face, starting out at her small, almost pointed ears, spreading down her plump cheeks and across her upturned nose. It continued down her face, over the curve of her jaw and down her neck where it disappeared into the collar of her shirt. 

She looked at him expectantly from underneath her lashes and then squeezed his hand encouragingly. 

“Go on,” she prompted him. “Speak to me.” 

So he did. Suddenly it was like a floodgate had opened. Thorin found himself telling her everything, as quickly as he could get it out of his mouth. He told her about his childhood and about Dis and Frerin, about his start as a hunter, about his hunts and Dwalin. He told her things he hadn’t told anyone else, about the deaths of his parents and grandparents, the specifics of Frerin’s death, and how he had come to know Gandalf. 

To her credit, Billie was an attentive listener. She gasped in all the right places, making him feel as if he was a story-teller, recounting some fairy-tale to a captive audience. Pretending and recounting the events as if they had happened to someone else made them all the easier to get out. 

He talked on and on, until his voice started to get hoarse and her eyes drooped. Despite her obvious exhaustion, she kept prompting him to go on, interjecting with the right questions when he started to ramble. 

Thorin didn’t notice until her hand slipped from his that the smaller hunter had fallen asleep in her seat. 

He almost chuckled as he took his hand back and applied it to the steering wheel again. 

“I’ve never talked anyone to sleep before,” Thorin mused out loud, hoping Billie was too far gone to hear him. Once released from his grip, she slipped slowly sideways, her feet sliding off the dashboard and landing with her cheek against the window pane. He smirked, chucking to himself as her breath fogged up the glass. She was much more endearing when asleep. 

Thorin drove until he hit the nearest motel, and decided to stop for the night. With Billie asleep, he was having trouble staying awake. It was better to lose a couple of hours than to end up in a ditch. 

After paying the motel attendant and finding their room with twin beds, he returned to the car and tried to wake Billie up. 

“Come on,” he said, shaking her shoulder gently. “Even a lumpy motel bed is better than that door.” 

Billie opened her eyes blearily, blinking a few times to clear them. The small hunter stretched before exiting the truck and following Thorin to the door. She didn’t say anything, looking like a child that had been woken too early from her nap. 

Once they were safely ensconced in their room, Thorin turned to lock the door and set up his usual precautions: salt lines at the doors and windows, protection wards, goofer dust. When he turned back around, Billie was already in bed, snuggled contently under the covers. 

Not bothering to grab his night clothes from his duffle, the hunter brushed his teeth, stripped down to his boxers and crawled into the opposite bed, careful not to wake Billie. The bed was lumpy, and the cheap sheets scratched his skin. He tossed and turned, trying for a long time to find a comfortable position. Even after driving all night, Thorin found he was still too keyed up to sleep. 

_‘You should be used to this by now,’_ he scolded himself lightly. It had been years since Thorin had called a single place home. After his parents passed, he and Dis had sold the house to pay for her education, and he’d been on the road ever since, living in his truck and cheap motels. 

He turned over once again, staring into the darkness where the other hunter lay. Thorin smiled, the first real smile in years. It felt unnatural at first, smiling so wide, but he gradually let it spread across his whole face, feeling as if it seeped into his very being. And with that smile on his face, he fell into a deep, untroubled sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to beng for pushing be forward with this story. It would not exist without her wonderful presence.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Billie and Thorin meet Elrond.

If Thorin hadn't known any better, he would have thought Billie had slipped something in his tea when he wasn’t looking. That’s how strange was the room he had just stepped into. It was definitely not what he’d been expecting when they'd left the motel this morning. Billie had portrayed Elrond as a master of lore, so Thorin had anticipated a scholar, a clean-cut, tidy man of books, not... this. The study was cluttered and dusty, with all sorts of objects and contraptions hanging on the walls or stuffed into already crowded bookshelves. 

There were weapons that Thorin could only dream of, books in languages he didn’t know existed, creatures who’d been dead centuries before he was even born. 

As unbelievable as the room was, the man standing in it was even stranger. He was tall and slender, with a bearing like a coiled spring. His hair hung long over his shoulders in a loose, simple plait. He was dressed in formal, tailored clothing. The thing that unnerved Thorin the most was his eyes. He was sure that when they’d entered, they'd been brown, and now, looking at him, they seemed bluer than anything else. 

Elrond had recognized Billie right away, enveloping the small woman into his arms. Apparently she looked just like her mother. Thorin stared at the floor until his sudden wish to punch the man in the face had passed. 

The other man introduced himself to the hunter with a thin-lipped smile and a surprisingly strong handshake, and then led them into his living room. 

“To what do I owe this surprise?” Elrond asked, still smiling down on Billie. 

“We need some information,” she replied lightly, sitting down on a dusty, antique loveseat. “About potion ingredients.” 

“I suspected this wasn’t a social visit. What is it you need?” 

“Claw of an alpha were, fang of an alpha vamp, scale of a dragon and the feather of an angel,” the smaller hunter answered, ticking each ingredient off on her fingers. 

Thorin went to open his mouth, but was silenced by the warning look Billie gave him. She obviously thought that, despite his misgivings, they could trust this man. He dropped into a vacant arm chair, creating a poof of dust as he sat. 

Elrond raised an eyebrow at her in surprise. “Ahhh, making an object binding potion, are we?” 

“I guess,” Billie shrugged at him. 

“You guess?” Elrond burst out laughing, startling both Thorin and Billie alike. “Does Gandalf happen to be involved in this little venture by any chance?” 

“How did you know that?” Thorin asked brusquely, his fists clenching on the arms of the chair. An uneasy feeling was growing in his gut.

“Peace, Mister Oakenshield,” the other man put out his hand defensively. “Asking people to obtain difficult ingredients without giving them a clue what they’re for is a very Gandalf thing to go, that’s all.” 

Billie glared at the other hunter again.

“Can you help us or not?” she asked, turning away from Thorin. 

“Yes, I think I can.” Elrond rose from his seat, moving to survey the tomes on his shelf. Finally, after several tense minutes, he pulled a particularly battered looking book from the highest shelf. 

Sitting down next to Billie, he blew the dust off the cover and opened it. 

“Dragons first?” 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Two hours later, Thorin felt as if his head was going to explode. His temples throbbed as Elrond read off yet another passage about dragons from his seemingly endless supply of books.

To his left, Billie was scribbling furiously, trying to keep up with him., copying everything that might be of use into a little leather-bound journal she kept with her at all times. 

Since they’d started, Thorin had learned more about dragons than he'd ever cared to know. 

Dragons were one of the worst-kept secrets in the history of supernatural creatures. Despite the fact that they featured in many old fairy tales and religious lore, they were extremely rare. Dragons were partial to female virgins, were attracted to gold and typically lived in caves, although they would take any closed space in a pinch.

What he hadn’t known was that dragons could and often did take human form. They could live among humans, never showing their true form for as long as they wished. In their true form, they were gigantic, with wingspans reaching fifteen to twenty feet. They had super speed, super strength and thermokinesis. They were nigh impossible to kill. They were also believed to be extinct, even by the few who didn't dismiss the fairy tales. 

Thorin’s heart sank when he heard that last bit. How were they supposed to get a scale from an animal that hadn’t existed for more than seven hundred years? 

“How do we get a scale if they’ve been dead for centuries?” he asked finally, breaking the sleep-inducing rhythm of the other man’s voice. 

“Believed to be isn’t the same as simply extinct,” Elrond answered, the remark followed by that infuriating smile of his. 

“Might as well be,” Thorin mumbled. They were wasting their time; valuable time, he might add, that they could be using to hunt the alphas. Instead they were buried up to their armpits in dust and useless lore.

“Ah, here it is!” 

“Here what is?” 

Their host raised a smug eyebrow as he closed the old tome. “The phone number I was looking for. I knew it was in one of these dragon books. Oin should have a dragon scale. He’s a great collector in magical objects.” 

“You’re telling me we just spent two hours reading about dragons, for you to find a phone number?!” Thorin felt his blood boil, an angry flush rising up his neck. Billie stood up from her seat nervously, waiting for him to explode. 

“Knowledge is power,” the other man said simply, putting away the book and handing the slip of paper to Thorin. 

The hunter stepped forward, gritting his teeth in an effort not to thrash the man. He gingerly took the paper and stuffed it unceremoniously into his pocket. 

Billie crossed the room and put a calming hand on his shoulder.

“It's okay, Thorin,” she murmured to him. “Let me handle this.”

She smiled at the other man kindly. Thorin had to hand it to her, she was surprisingly calm despite the frustration he could detect in the glimmer of her eyes. 

“Angels,” she said, her voice tight around the edges. “Do you have anything about angels?” 

Elrond stood and rummaged through yet another shelf, pawing over spine after spine to reach his query.

Thorin sat back down in his chair, his hands still clenched in annoyance. He was more than ready to leave and never look back. He didn’t have patience for people who wasted his time. He simply could not spend another two hours listening about angels, just for the old fool to pull out a long forgotten tidbit. 

Elrond smiled as he found what he seemed to be looking for. He held up the book for both hunters to see. Thorin leaned forward to get a better idea. 

On the open page there was a crudely depicted sigil. It had a point at the bottom, and the top looked like a child's drawing of the sun. 

“What is it?” Billie asked, squinting and turning her head to the side, trying to make sense of it. 

“That, my dear, would be the horn of Gabriel,” the man smiled at them and turned the book back towards himself. “It's a sigil that will draw any nearby angels to you.”

“Just like that?” Thorin was skeptical. It sounded too good to be true, and things that sounded too good to be true, in his experience, usually were . 

“The sigil needs to be drawn in blood. Fresh blood,” the other man added. 

Thorin snorted. They were hunters, and hunters were no strangers to blood rituals. He could name five off the bat without even having to think about it. 

“Blood’s not a problem,” he replied confidently. 

“Getting them to give you a feather is a different story,” Elrond added, his eyes glinting with mischief. 

“You let us worry about that,” Billie grinned at him. 

“It seems like you two have a lot to worry about,” the other man taunted good-naturedly. “You might want to check the Roadhouse for news on the alphas. Bifur normally keeps pretty good tabs on them.” 

Thorin almost scowled but took great pains to keep it concealed. He knew the Roadhouse, knew it well, although, after a particularly nasty bout with a ghoul, he hadn’t been there in years. He hoped, for his own sake, they wouldn’t remember him. 

“Thank you, Elrond,” the blonde said politely and looked at Thorin expectantly. He could practically read it in her eyes: ‘Say thank you, or I’ll smack you!’ 

The hunter rose and offered a conciliatory hand. “Thank you.” 

Elrond’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but he didn’t voice it. Instead he marked the page in his book and handed it gently to Billie.

“If you don’t return this,” he remarked blandly. “I have my ways of retrieving it .”

Billie chuckled, taking the book from him and tucking it reverently into her pack along with her journal. 

“I don’t doubt it, Master Elrond.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Billie take their quest to the Roadhouse to meet some interesting friends from Thorin's past.

The Roadhouse looked the same as always, Thorin thought as their truck pulled into the pockmarked dirt parking lot. It was dark already, but it seemed that nothing had changed over the years. It was the same dilapidated structure, same chipped red paint. The light was on inside, signaling to Thorin that although it was late, there was still someone still closing up. Only two cars remained in the lot, presumably belonging to whoever was still left in the bar.

Thorin stepped out of the truck, moving to the back to collect the requisites of his trade. Billie slid out after him, her eyes sweeping the edges of the parking lot for threats. 

Before heading in, Thorin gave himself a quick pat down to take inventory of the weapons he had on him. There was a flask of holy water in his pocket, a silver knife in his belt and his shotgun loaded with rock salt strapped on his back. Beside him, Billie was similarly armed to the teeth, her gun belt with her trusty pistol filled with custom-made bullets slung low on her hips. Thorin wasn’t sure what he would find inside the bar, but better to be safe than sorry. 

The Roadhouse was a hunter’s hangout run by the Broadbeam family, who were hunters themselves. The three had settled down after the deaths of their parents, instead acting as a focal point in a sort of a hunter’s network. 

Thorin stepped up to the door and rapped on it with his knuckles. The door creaked open slowly, revealing the dimly lit bar inside. The chairs were up on the tables, the light behind the bar was off. Everything pointed to the bar being closed for the night. The hunters tentatively stepped inside, hands lazily hovering over their weapons. Glancing around, Thorin noticed a rag left haphazardly on one of the tables and knew it was too late.

Before he could even reach for his weapons, he heard the click of a rifle being loaded coming from behind the bar. 

“Don’t move, Oakenshield. Put the weapons on the ground where I can see ‘em,” said a feminine voice with a thick brogue. 

Thorin sighed, putting his gun and knife on the floor. Billie faltered, shooting him a panicked look. 

“Just put the gun on the ground, I’ll explain later,” he whispered to her, raising his hands in the air. 

She hesitated for only a moment before unbuckling her belt and placing it gently on the floor. She put her hands up as well, glancing over in the direction from which the voice had come. 

Three figures stepped out from behind the well-worn bar. Two women approached from the left, and they were both holding firearms. A rotund man came in from the right, clutching a cast iron skillet as if his life depended on it.

“Hello to you too, Bofur,” Thorin said lightly, cracking a smirk. 

One of the women, with a floppy winter hat and brandishing a pistol in one hand, stepped forward, splashing Thorin and then Billie with water. 

Billie sputtered, wiping the water from her eyes. “What was that for?” 

“Can never be too sure, lass,” the woman explained, taking a silver knife from her belt. “Arm out.” 

The two hunters each held out a forearm to the woman in the hat. Her two associates were still pointing their weapons at them. 

Thorin hissed as she made a small shallow cut on his forearm. “Are you happy now, Bof?” 

“Only if I could prick ye a couple more times,” Bofur offered with a smirk. The man and the other woman lowered their skillet and gun respectively and stepped forward. 

“Bofur,” the woman in the hat said, holding her hand out to Billie. The smaller hunter took it gingerly, still dabbing at the wound on her arm. “This is m’ cousin, Bifur and brother Bombur.” 

“Billie Baggins, charmed,” Billie replied, waving lightly at the other two. Bifur mumbled something and made quick gestures with her hands. Thorin winced as guilt started to swell in his gut. 

He was the reason Bifur could no longer talk properly, the reason why she could only use her hands to communicate. When he was a new hunter, still wet behind the ears, he’d gotten himself into a spot of trouble with the local werewolf pack, through his own special brand of stupidity. 

Bifur and Bofur had rescued him, and that had earned the elder Broadbeam a silver bullet embedded in her brain. She had lost the ability to speak in understandable words, only communicating through sign language. The last time he’d seen them, Bofur had tried to return the favor, blaming him for her cousin’s accident.

“How’d a pretty little thing like you get tangled up with a mess like him?” Bofur asked, smiling ferally at Billie. She put her gun down on the table and began pulling down the chairs, motioning for them to sit.

“Hey!” Thorin protested, and Bofur pointed a warning finger at him. 

Billie had gone pink in the face, her blush spreading all the way up to the tips of her ears. She took a seat next to Bombur. “Well, Gandalf…”

“Say no more. That wizard is always up ta some trouble o’ other,” Bofur cut in, sitting down on Billie’s other side. 

“I wondered why he hadn’t been in recently. Normally he stops by every couple months,” Bombur added, laying his skillet down on the table. Bifur nodded in agreement, signing quickly at Bofur. 

“Yeah, so that’s why you’re here then, eh?” She looked at Thorin, who had just retrieved his things from the floor and was taking a seat next to Bombur. “Need information?” 

“Well, I’m not here for your sparkling wit and hospitality,” Thorin shot back. 

Billie choked . “Thorin! Be nice!” she admonished him sternly. “They have been nothing but-” 

“It’s alright, lass,” Bofur interrupted, casting a look at the brunet hunter. “We have a history, Thorin and me, isn’t that right, sweet cheeks?” 

Thorin forced himself to smile jovially. “That’s right, honey-bear.” 

Billie went even redder, if possible. “W-well…” she stuttered. 

“We’re looking for locations of an alpha werewolf and an alpha vamp,” Thorin cut straight to the point, avoiding his partner’s eyes. He wanted to punch Bofur for her insinuation. For some reason he couldn’t pinpoint, it made him angry that she had even dared to say something like that in front of Billie. 

“All business now, are we?” Bofur teased, leaning back on her chair. “Why should I help you?” 

“Bofur, I don’t have time for this,” Thorin growled, clenching his fists. 

“Please.” 

Bofur and Thorin both looked at the other hunter in surprise. 

“Please, will you help us?” Billie asked again, her eyes large and pleading. Thorin hated when she used those eyes on him. Even in his limited experience he knew they could get him to do almost anything if he wasn’t careful. 

“On one condition,” Bofur smirked, turning her full attention on Billie. 

“What’s that?” the smaller woman asked, twisting her hands nervously. 

“Come on a date with me.” 

Thorin’s jaw dropped open. 

“Deal,” Billie replied, her face lighting up with a smile. 

“What? No. Definitely not!” Thorin blurted out, suddenly unable to control his own mouth. 

Now it was his turn to be stared at. 

“Please tell me this big oaf doesn’t speak for ya,” Bofur challenged, positively glaring at Thorin. The other two Broadbeams were staring at him as well. 

“He doesn’t.” Billie said, a slight edge in her voice. “You’re not my keeper, Thorin!” she replied shrilly. 

Thorin felt himself blushing and tongued-tied, unable to utter a coherent word in his own defense. “Uh, well… I’m… But…” he muttered, swallowing thickly. 

“It’s settled then. I accept,” Billie smiled defiantly at him. “As soon as we finish our mission.” 

“Then two alphas comin’ right up!” Bofur smiled, getting up to retrieve a small leather-bound ledger from behind the bar. She dove into it with renewed gusto, running her fingers quickly over the messy scrawl. 

Billie tossed Thorin a triumphant look and crossed her arms over her chest, beaming from ear to ear. 

Thorin sucked in a harsh breath, trying to quell the awful feeling growing in his chest. He couldn’t explain it. She was right, he wasn’t her keeper. He wasn’t her lover, he wasn’t her anything really. They were sort of partners in what was possibly a suicide mission, hatched by a madcap wizard, both of them conned into it through nefarious means. So why did the thought of Billie anywhere near the other hunter make him feel so rotten? 

“The last I heard,” Bofur said, breaking through Thorin’s cloud of thought, “the alpha vamp was residing in St. Louis, Missouri, and the werewolf…” She paused, flipping another couple of pages. “Is in Daytona, Florida.” 

She smiled radiantly at Billie, and Thorin looked away, willing himself to be calm. 

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Bofur asked flirtatiously. 

“Well, now that you mention it…”

~~~~~~~~~~

 

When they left, several hours later, Thorin had a pounding headache and a powerful need to punch something. He had had to endure Bofur flirting with Billie every chance she got, and Billie’s stupid smile every time she did. He’d been about to put his gun in his mouth when Billie decided it was time to leave. He should be grateful, but the gentle kiss Bofur placed on Billie's cheek distracted him in awful ways. 

He remained silent until they were well clear of the Roadhouse. 

“I can't believe you’re going on a date with that woman,” he finally blurted out, unable to keep his tongue still any longer.

“I don't see how it's any of your business,” Billie replied tartly, looking out the window. 

Thorin frowned at her, drawing his lips in a straight line. “It's my business while you're my partner!” he replied, equally sour. “We need… We need to….” he faltered, trying to think up some excuse to keep Billie as far away from the Roadhouse as possible, “… to be focused.”

Billie gave him a dubious look. “Since when? This is the first I've heard about it!” 

“Since...er… now,” Thorin sputtered back at her. He minded more than he cared to admit. 

“Thanks, Dad,” she drawled.

“You don't know what she's capable of,” Thorin argued bluntly. 

“I don't know what you're capable of either.” 

Thorin opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again as he realized she was right.

They didn't speak again until they reached their next stop.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin puts his foot in his mouth.

As soon as they woke up, Thorin set about calling the number Elrond had given him. It only took a couple of rings before the other man picked up. 

“Hello?” Oin said loudly. 

“Hello, yes,” Thorin started. “My name is-”

“Hello?” the man shouted, causing Thorin to pull the phone from his ear. 

“Hi. This is Thorin-”

“Eh?” 

Thorin sighed into the phone. 

“Yes,” he screamed into the phone, earning a harsh stare from Billie. “I’m a friend of Elrond’s.”

“Elrond you say?” Oin bellowed back “He’s a friend of mine.” 

“I know, Mr. Oin,” the hunter yelled. “I’m calling for your help.”

“Help? Help with what?” 

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I need a dragon scale,” he hollered. 

“No need to shout, sonny,” Oin replied jovially. The older man began to prattle on about all manner of things: his nephew (Gimli’s a genius, gonna be the President someday that boy), how his herbs were doing (mint will grow all year, but basil only during the summer), and his favorite embroidery techniques (lazy daisy was the best for flowers apparently) before he gave them his address. By the time he hung up the phone, Thorin wanted to smack his head against a wall, but at least another thing would be crossed out on their list. All they needed now was a meal and a good night’s rest. 

 

The smaller hunter was curled up in the lumpy motel armchair with her knitting. Her needles were clicking back and forth rapidly. She looked up at him, when he screamed, a witty quip ready on her lips 

“Making friends, are we?” she prodded gently, a ghost of a smirk dancing over her face . 

Thorin clenched his teeth for a moment to avoid snapping at her. It would only be falling into her trap. 

“Yes, in fact we are,” he said each word slowly, trying to keep his calm. “Do you want breakfast before we leave?” 

Billie looked up, the needles in her hands stilling. “I could eat,” she replied, putting her knitting on the arm of the chair. “But then again, I could always eat.” 

Thorin glowered at her. 

“There’s a diner right over the interstate.” he said, getting up from the bed where he’d been seated. The room was as good as any motel he’d been in, standard fare. There were two primly made double beds, with a shoddy wooden nightstand between them, one lumpy armchair and a desk, complete with a dilapidated desk chair underneath. There were water bugs in the shower, and the mirror was not fully cleaned, still holding smudges and fingerprints from the people that stayed here before them. Despite its mess, it was still kind-of-home, or as close as he was ever going to get. Kind-of-home was how he referred to the collective places he’d laid his head down over the years, all melding into one solid image. 

Saddened by the thought, Thorin got his coat, gruffly shrugging the leather over his shoulders. He watched as Billie donned her own jacket, a maroon corduroy monstrosity with brass acorn buttons. Thorin had tried to persuade her to leave it at home, but she had been determined. He would admit, but never out loud or to anyone, that the color looked good on her. Billie followed him out the door and, stowing the card in her pocket, shut the door tight behind them. 

The morning was brisk and windy, cold air blowing in Thorin’s face and through his hair, snarling his already mussed ponytail. Billie’s honey-colored curls whirled about her face, bouncing off her wind-reddened cheeks, and Thorin had to stop himself from brushing an errant strand behind her ear. 

‘Get a hold of yourself, man!” he chastised himself as they walked to the car. What was happening to him? One moment, she annoyed the ever living fuck out of him, and the next, he wanted to kiss her senseless. Stupid quest, stupid curls, stupid Gandalf. 

They drove in companionable silence the hour it took to reach the diner, the windows fogging up with their warm breath. It was a relief when they finally entered the warmth of the restaurant. 

The diner was much like all the other hokey roadside establishments that Thorin had eaten in over the years. The food was always too greasy, too salty or just plain inedible. There was always a waitress smelling of fried food and smoke, and the counter was always dotted with silent trucker dudes. At least this time, he wouldn’t have to endure it alone. 

Billie slid into the closest open booth, her nose twitching hungrily as the smell of bacon and egg engulfed them. Thorin attempted to sit opposite her, cursing short tables and long limbs, as he shoved his legs underneath. His partner grinned at him, biting her lip to avoid laughing. He couldn’t stop watching the way her teeth nibbled at her chapped lips, eyes wide and looking directly at him. Thorin flushed and opened his mouth, but was saved by an ill-tempered waitress. 

“What’ll it be?” she asked, leaning with her hand on her hip. 

“Well… Bertha,” Billie said agreeably, reading the woman’s nametag. “I’m going to have some pancakes, two eggs over easy with bacon and toast, a bagel and some grapefruit please.” 

Thorin just stared at Billie for a second and then at the waitress. “I’ll have coffee and, er… pancakes too. Please.” He smiled at her. She didn’t smile back as she turned and walked away. 

 

“Are you really going to eat all that?” was all he could think to say in response to Billie’s order. 

“That better not be a comment on my weight, like I think it is, Thorin Oakenshield, or I swear you’re sleeping in the car tonight.” 

“It…. wasn’t?” The hunter smiled awkwardly. 

“Good. I thought not,” she answered. “So?

“So?” Thorin was suddenly confused. “So what?”

“So… I’m just trying to make conversation, you big oaf. Say something?”

His mind went completely blank. 

“So how ‘bout them Yankees?” he tried.

Billie rolled her eyes at him. “What’s the plan after we meet Oin? Which alpha do you want to go after first? Or do you want to get the feather first?” 

Thorin looked around suspiciously, eyeing the other patrons up and down. “We shouldn’t be talking about this in public,” he murmured conspiratorially. 

“Then when can we talk about it?!” she whispered harshly back. “You never want to talk about it! You never want to talk about anything!” 

“FINE!” Thorin snapped, more loudly than he meant to. The entire restaurant looked at him, including the waitress bringing their food. . “What do you want to talk about?” he said more calmly, his face going slightly red. 

“Anything! If not the mission- which you aren’t getting out of talking about, by the way , what then? What do you want to do after this? When you’re done hunting?” 

She smiled at Bertha as she set the plates down on the table, still staring at Thorin with a scared expression on her face. Billie dug right in, eating like she hadn’t seen food in years.  
Thorin froze. He never really thought about getting out of the life, it normally wasn’t done. He’d known nothing else since he started hunting, cloistered himself off by cutting relationships except for his sister and, on occasion, Dwalin. It sounded too good to be true, to never have to sleep with one eye open, or sew up his own wounds. 

“I’ve never thought about it, to be honest,” he admitted sheepishly, cutting up his steaming stack of pancakes. “I was too concentrated on the vampires that murdered my brother and after that, it was one vampire after another, and here I am.”

“You never thought about it?” she wondered, stuffing her face with food. “You had a normal life before this, one I could only dream of. Don’t you want it back?” 

The dark-haired hunter faltered for a moment, fork frozen halfway between his mouth and the plate. Killing was the only thing he was good at. “I don’t know anything else anymore.”

“I somehow doubt that,” she sassed him, taking a long sip of her coffee. “You’re good with your hands, those bullets you made work like a charm.”  
“Those were nothing!” he argued back, slicing his pancakes with much more force than was necessary. 

“And your car runs like a dream — not a hiccup, not even a spot of rust. I’ve seen you working on it.”

“But- ” he started, but couldn’t get a word in edgewise. 

“I bet you even-”

“Will that be all?” the waitress interrupted them suddenly, pushing their conversation to a halt. They both stopped and looked at her, barely done with their breakfast. She clearly wanted the quarrelsome couple out of her restaurant. 

“Yes, that’ll be all,” Thorin said, giving Billie a warning look. She started laughing into her hand, causing Bertha to stare at her like she was crazy. 

As soon as the waitress walked away, Billie took a last gulp of coffee and threw money down on the table.

Thorin opened his mouth to object, but was silenced by a bold finger on his lips. 

“Don’t even try,” she warned, grabbing her coat. 

His protest died in his throat as he followed her out of the restaurant. 

Billie was a couple steps ahead of him, head thrown back, a bright smile on her face. 

“Billie, I-”  
She cut him, yanking hard on his lapel and bringing his mouth down to meet hers. Thorin was too surprised to react, just bending awkwardly until her hands found his hair, her fingers threading through the strands and pulling him closer. Her lips were chapped and cold, but yielding and sweet, still tasting of maple syrup. His hands almost went around her waist, but as quickly as it had happened, she stepped back, just out of his reach. 

“Thank you, Thorin,” she said sweetly, before turning and walking in the direction of the car . 

Thorin just stood for a moment, breathing hard, still shell-shocked. He took several deep breaths before following after her. 

“For what?” he shouted to her retreating back, only to receive a wide grin and wink in response.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Getting to Oin’s place took longer than Thorin had anticipated. It wouldn’t have been so bad if his brain wasn’t so addled from Billie kissing him. She hadn’t said a word since they left the diner despite her earlier threats and was humming contentedly to herself, knitting up a storm. He couldn’t begin to guess what she was creating. Right now it just looked like a lump and he wasn’t going to ask. If he had to choose between addled silence and chatter, he’d choose her silence any day. 

Oin turned out to be a pleasant man, even if he was slightly deaf and liked to talk (loudly). Billie proved to be exceptionally patient with the older man, listening attentively to every story he told. 

“Your nephew, Gimli, is it?” she was currently saying. “Sounds like a fantastic young man. I’d love to hear more about him later, but we’ve come to ask you about a dragon scale?” 

He nodded, and finally went to get it. 

Thorin was in awe. “How did you do that?” he whispered, leaning towards her. “We’ve barely been here an hour! It took me more than that to get off the phone with him!” 

She offered him a dazzling smile. “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Thorin. You need to be nice.” 

“I am nice!” he protested.

Billie raised a sarcastic eyebrow. 

“What? I am!” 

“Nice is not a word I would use to describe you, Thorin Oakenshield,” she smirked at him. 

He felt himself flush with color, the smirk curling on her lips reminding him vividly of what those lips were capable of. His stomach was doing flip-flops as she regarded him from under thick lashes. He opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by Oin returning, a worn box in his hand. 

“Here it is then,” he mumbled, handing Billie the box. She offered a glittering smile in return.

“Thank you very much.” 

“Now if you wouldn’t mind me asking, lass,” he said, looking between the two of them. “What is this for? Dragon scales are only used for two spells I can think of, and neither of them are particularly pleasant.” 

“Object binding spell,” Billie answered lightly but loudly, ensuring the old man heard her. She opened the intricately carved wooden box in her lap. Nestled in red satin, was a glittering object about as big as a strawberry, glinting in the light. 

“Does Gandalf have anything to do with this?” Oin ventured, watching Billie intently. His eyes had softened, and the look of interest had dimmed into one of pity. 

Billie looked up at him questioningly. “Yes. How did you know?” 

“You’re not the first young hunters that have come asking for rare magical objects, Miss Baggins,” he replied sadly. “And you won’t be the last.”

Thorin looked at the old man skeptically. He didn’t like the sound of what he was saying, a foreboding feeling washing away all traces of the jubilation he’d been feeling before. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean, Master Oakenshield,” the older man took Thorin in steadily. “Is that you’re not the first he’s sent to die in pursuit of the Arkenstone. Two pairs he’s sent here for various objects. First it was angel feathers — they never found their bodies, and then alpha fangs and claws — both fools burnt to a crisp. It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

“We’re not going to die,” Thorin protested. “We’re hunters. We kill things for a living, no big deal. This is just like any other hunt.”

“You ever fought against an alpha, boy?” Oin asked calmly, his eyes boring into Thorin’s with increasing intensity. “They aren’t like others of their kind. They are stronger, better, tougher in every way, not susceptible to the same things. Immune to grave dirt, able to transform without the full moon. They’re like nothing you’ve ever seen.” 

“We’re not going to die,” Thorin stubbornly repeated.

Oin studied him for a moment and shook his head. “Keep telling yourself that, laddie.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After she said her polite goodbyes to Oin, Billie shrugged on her coat and rushed for the door.

Thorin wished the old man a good evening as he grabbed his own coat and followed her out, confused as to what he had said or done to cause her abrupt departure.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as they made their way into the frigid air outside.

“Nothing,” she answered quickly, her pace making it hard for him to keep up, even with his longer strides.

“Billie…”

“How can you just be so cavalier about this whole thing?” she retorted, whipping around suddenly. „These aren’t just regular monsters. They’re alphas, Thorin, as in the creator of the race. THE vampire, THE werewolf, more powerful that any supernatural being in creation! You heard Oin. Doesn’t it scare you? You act like hunting is nothing! Like this mission is nothing out of the ordinary!”

 

He was taken aback. “What do you want me to say? Bloody hell, yes it’s terrifying. But what sense does being scared make? We’ve got a job to do, whether we like it or not, and once we’re done, you can go plant your stupid flowers, or knit fucking doilies for all I care! But until then, there’s no use complaining about it!” 

He truly hadn’t meant to snap at her, but he found he couldn’t stop once he’d started. “All you’ve done since we left your cabin is bitch and moan. All of us want to go back to our lives, Billie! I’d rather be doing anything else right now than having to hear about your garden or your armchair one more time! You shouldn’t have come! Whatever Gandalf thinks, you don’t belong here!” 

A look of hurt flashed over Billie’s features before being replaced with the hard set of her jaw. He instantly regretted his words.

“Fine then,” she said curtly, not looking him in the eye. “If you feel that way, it’s best that we go our separate ways.”

Thorin hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected any of this, to be honest. “But Gandalf said-” 

“I don’t care what that barmy wizard said,” she interrupted, her small hands clenched into fists as if she wanted to hit him. “And as you previously pointed out, we can cover more ground if we split up. You go after the vampire, and I’ll go after the were.” 

“That’s not what I meant!” 

“That’s exactly what you meant!” she snarled. “And you got your wish! Goodbye, Thorin Oakenshield.” And with that, she marched resolutely back towards Oin’s house. 

“But Billie… Wait!” he called out. 

The only answer was the door slamming behind her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin gets himself into a spot of trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I've updated this story. I was preparing for my boxing match, but it's over so expect more updates! Thank you!

Thorin drove towards St. Louis in a fury. He couldn’t think straight, despite trying to push his anger and guilt aside. 

He had let his mouth get away from him, and as a result, he was down a partner and up a stomach full of self-hatred and bile. 

True, he was annoyed at Billie’s constant complaining. True, she had flipped out on him first. True, he had every right to be annoyed, but what he said to her had been uncalled for. Gandalf had coerced her into coming by using her past against her. Thorin had no idea what the Fell Winter was, but by the way Billie had reacted back at her cabin, he could tell it was something she’d do anything to avoid reliving. 

_‘Stop thinking about her!’_ he commanded himself. _‘You have an alpha to kill, you can’t let anything distract you.’_

It was easier said than done. Every time he let his mind wander, it always dragged him back to Billie. When had she become such a part of his life? 

Thorin didn’t like St. Louis, in as much as he didn’t like cities in general. Too large and overcrowded for his tastes. He’d visited New York in his youth, but found the Big Apple dirty and claustrophobic. He avoided cities like the plague ever since, more than happy to stick to rural areas with wide open spaces.

He arrived with little fanfare, settling at the nearest motel to begin to prepare himself and gather his supplies. The city itself was large, but leeches were picky. 

Vampires tended to stick to abandoned areas, where they wouldn’t be disturbed easily, and St. Louis, a former industrial hub, had plenty just ripe for the taking. He’d only been to St. Louis once before, hot on the trail of a rogue werewolf that was killing its way through the suburbs, and if he remembered correctly, there was a small but effective network of hunters here. That would be his first stop. 

Hunters’ bars were marked for hunters’ eyes only, disguised to look like houses of ill-repute. It didn’t take Thorin all that long to find one, once he started looking. It was just off the wharf, close to the state border with Mississippi, looking so derelict that Thorin almost missed it. But the signs were there and the lights were on, so he went in. 

The bar was thankfully empty, save for an old man nursing a drink in the corner, and a weary looking bartender. It had old-fashioned charm with deep mahogany countertops and shabby leather stools. The tables scattered around had seen better days. The floor was also wood, heavily stained by the copious amounts of alcohol that had been spilled by patrons long gone. The windows and mirrors were dingy with dust, barely catching the dim lights. 

The bartender’s eyes narrowed when he saw the unfamiliar hunter, and he immediately came to the front of the bar as if to greet him, but Thorin thought it was much more likely he had a gun hidden under the counter. 

“Can I help you?” the bartender asked in a polite voice that was at odds with his tense posture. 

Thorin came closer, pulling out a stool to sit. “Just a shot, please. Whiskey if you have it, and information if you will.” 

The man stooped to pull a bottle and glass from under the bar. He was older, with dark hair shot through with silver. He had a powerful build and hard eyes that led Thorin to believe he wasn’t just some lackey brought in to serve spirits. This man had been a hunter at some point, if he wasn’t still. 

“That depends on who’s asking,” he said.

Thorin took the shot slid towards him, knocking it back with ease. “No one important. I’m looking for the alpha vamp. I know he’s here, I just need to know where.” 

The man’s eyes widened in ill-concealed surprise. “Y-y-you’re going after that monster?” he crossed himself quickly. “Are you nuts or just plain stupid?” XD

“A bit of both, I suppose,” Thorin replied, sliding the glass back at the bartender. “Where?” 

“There’s a theater in East St. Louis, The Majestic. Went out of business in the 60’s. As far as I can remember, that vamp moved in some time after that ,” the bartender said reluctantly, moving to take the glass from the hunter. 

“Thank you.” Thorin tossed a few dollars down on the bar and slid off the stool. 

Instead of putting the glass away, the bartender poured another shot and offered it at Thorin, before taking it. “Good luck, boy. You’re gonna need it.” 

~~~~~

Thorin wasn’t an over-packer. He always carried exactly what he needed and no more. This was not one of those times. He felt weighted down, hovering precariously between guilt and anxiety as he approached the Majestic Theater. 

It was once been a grand building with an ornate brick façade, but not anymore. The front windows were boarded up, dotted with colorful graffiti. Over the years, the elements had done their work, aging and wearing until the once venerable building was nothing more than a moldering ruin. 

Thorin could practically taste the supernatural energy buzzing in the air as he approached, felt it crackle over him. The street was eerily quiet for the time of day, no cars or people, nothing but him and the shadow of the building in front of him.

Checking his pockets and coat one more time, he crept around the building. The inside was even more dilapidated than the outside. Parts of the roof had fallen in, and there was old graffiti on every available surface. Dust particles danced in the sunbeams where they streamed in from outside. How could anyone, even a blood sucking leech, live here? 

While most of the damage was old, Thorin noticed signs of a recent scuffle, deep clawed gouges in the floor and spots of what looked like dried blood. He crept forward to examine them. There had been some sort of fight and nothing run of the mill. The gouges were deep and splintery, as if left by animal claws. Vampires tended to stay away from other supernatural creatures, preferring the company of their own kind, or on special occasions, humans. Thorin pressed on. 

The theater was so quiet, even his measured breaths sounded booming to him. As he passed into the shadow, it smelled mustier than in the open air, and it grew more oppressive as he ventured further. By the time he reached the back of the main room, he could barely breathe. 

Thorin pulled out his gun, carefully cocking it as he snuck into the hallway that preceded the dark lobby. It was loaded with bullets similar to those he had used on Lobelia: holy water and dead man’s blood, this time laced with silver ingots. 

The hallway and lobby had been handsome in their day, with timber panel walls and lush red carpets, but time had not been kind. The panels were cracked and warped with water damage, and dull with years of acquired dirt. The carpet was almost brown, matted down by footprints. But unlike the main theater, the corridor was free of detritus, and there was no dust settled on any surface as one would expect in an old unused building. 

The hunter slunk forward, silently thankful that the rug muffled the sounds of his heavy boots. He could hear low voices towards the end of the hall, and he inched closer, careful of making any noise. 

“- So what you're saying is this stone can grant any wish... anything?” said a baritone voice. 

“Anything,” answered a sultry purring voice. 

They were talking about the Arkenstone... How did they know about it? Thorin stood just beyond the doorway, his gun ready. What happened next, he was not expecting. 

“Come in, hunter,” called the second voice, shrill with excitement. “We can smell you, you know.” 

Thorin froze. He should have known his usual tactics wouldn't work. His heart fluttered wildly, remembering Billie's words as he opened the door. His gun was still out, ready to fire at a moment's notice if they provoked him. 

The luxury of the dressing room was at odds with the decay outside of it. Every inch reeked of decadence, from the white marble fireplace, to the blue satin of the chairs. The room looked as if it had come out of an old French palace, and the beings who inhabited it were even more astonishing. 

Seated within the former dressing room, was the most powerful vampire Thorin had ever seen. Power rolled off of her like a wave, capturing everything around her in its thrall. The hunter stood rooted in his place as her red eyes passed over him. The vampiress grinned, her pointed white teeth showing through her smile. 

“We have not had the pleasure of acquaintance, hunter,” she purred, rising slowly from her chair. She was a regal woman, with chocolate-brown skin, her tightly braided hair hanging in a long bejeweled rope over her shoulders. The dress she was wearing moved like an extension of her body rather than clothing, draped around her trim figure to perfection. She was on her feet before Thorin had even registered her moving, still caught in her power. 

“My name is Yavanna, and this is Aule,” she gestured towards the man with whom she had been conversing. 

Thorin tore his eyes from the woman and looked at the man. He was a large, light-skinned man with broad shoulders and hands that looked like they were hewn from stone. There was something animalistic about him, the way his nostrils flared and the hungry look in his yellow eyes. He gave off the same air of supremacy as the vampire, flooding the hunter in a potent rush. 

Thorin sucked in a sharp breath. _‘Werewolf…’_ He was ashamed it had taken him this long to realize it. A vampire and a werewolf talking about the Arkenstone… Were they both alphas? 

“We know why you’re here, little hunter,” growled the werewolf, pulling himself up to his full height. He had to be at least eight feet tall, by Thorin’s estimation. . “We know what you seek.” 

“Good,” Thorin said, his throat dry and scratchy. “That way we can get down to business, dog.” He tried to sound confident, but the terror constricting his chest made that almost impossible. He knew he was going to die — he had had a fraction of a chance against one alpha, but none at all against two. 

The werewolf growled, taking a step towards him, but was stopped by the woman placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. The two alphas exchanged a look and then the vamp stepped forward. 

“There are other ways to get what you seek,” she drawled, white teeth glinting between red lips. 

Thorin cocked his run in response. 

Yavanna laughed, her eyes flashing at him and her teeth bared. “Have it your way then, little hunter. Let’s get this over with.” 

Thorin fired off a shot at where the vampire was standing, but the bullet buried itself in the wall directly behind her.

“You’ll have to be faster than that,” she hissed in his ear. She was standing behind him now, and he hadn’t seen her move. Oh, he was so fucked. Thorin felt the bite of her nails as she slashed him across his back. 

He swung around quickly, trying to aim at her, but as soon as he caught her in his sight, she moved again, laughing all the while. The werewolf joined in, his lower tone booming in the small room. They were playing a game with him, a game with weighted dice. 

Adrenaline surged through Thorin’s body and his blood pounded in his ears as he spun, trying to guess where Yavanna would be next. He should have listened to Billie. She was right, and now, because of his own stupidity, he would never get to tell her. 

‘Think, stupid, think!’ He stopped spinning and aimed for the one creature in the room who was standing completely still: the werewolf. 

Aule started laughing anew, not even flinching as the bullet dug into his flesh. “Stupid hunter,” he sneered. “Holy water won’t hurt m-.” 

The werewolf began to howl in pain, dropping to his knees.

Thorin smiled despite the dire situation. “Silver will,” he said shortly, firing another two shots at him. 

The howls of pains turned into shrieks, echoing so loudly Thorin was sure anyone on the street outside could hear them. His attention was riveted back to the vampire as she stopped laughing. 

“You think you’re clever,” her sultry voice had a cold edge to it, one that chilled Thorin to his very core. “Such tricks will not work on me.”

She stared at him, her eyes luminous and lovely. Thorin tried to fight it, tried to pull himself back, but he was helpless the moment he looked into her eyes. Bliss flooded his body, his tense limbs going loose even as he struggled to stay in control.

“Come now, little hunter,” she crooned, extending her blood-stained hand, beckoning him closer to her. “Time to die.” 

_‘No,’_ he thought. _‘No, not like this.’_ Some part of him was fighting back, his body jerking as he walked forward, as if he was a marionette. Each step he took was halved, as he attempted to resist. It was excruciating, bolts of pain shooting down his limbs, crashing through his skull as he tried — and failed — to escape the vampire’s control. 

“Don’t fight it,” she sang , her voice becoming more melodious the closer he got to her. Thorin could already feel her breath on him as he struggled, his mind caged inside the unyielding weight of his body. 

“No one is coming to save you.” 

Her hands were on him now, pulling him closer to her mouth. His body would not obey him as he tried to wriggle away, powerless against her superior strength. 

It only hurt for a moment when her teeth pierced his neck, the pain quickly receding as a feeling of bliss and drowsiness flooded him. Thorin’s hands fell uselessly at his sides as the brown-skinned goddess sucked blood from his body. It felt good, better than the release of orgasm, more potent than the sting of liquor in his veins. Even his brain stopped resisting as it was deprived of oxygen. 

Thorin had almost fallen asleep when a sudden jolt as he hit the ground roused him from his delusion. Yavanna had dropped him, and she was screeching in pain, her body convulsing as she fell on the floor next to him. 

“Thorin!” 

That voice called out to his poisoned mind, forcing him to open his heavy eyelids. A face came into view, splattered with blood, large hazel eyes laden with worry. Her warm hands cupped his face, trembling against him. 

“Billie?” he mumbled, his tongue feeling as if it was three times too large for his mouth. “Billie, I’m so tired…” 

She turned her head, shouting something he couldn’t understand to someone he couldn’t see. Her worried face was the last thing he saw as he fell into darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorn and Billie summon angels, and find out they're just dicks with wings.

_He was out of breath, his muscles crying out with fatigue as he ran. He looked over his shoulder, checking to see if his pursuers were still behind him, but he could see nothing in the fog._

_The fog wasn’t the naturally occurring variety, born of climate and season, but something else entirely. It was thick and noxious, obscuring everything around him. He knew he had to keep moving, to keep running as far as he could to get away from them._

_An anguished scream drew his attention to one of the houses closest to him. Although her the voice was muffled by the fog, he knew it was a woman. She was calling a name into the mist, one name over and over again in an anguished staccato._

_“Bungo! Bungo! Bungo!” her shrieks cut through the air, and Thorin ran towards her, the name prodding something in his brain. Where had he heard that name before?_

_The woman was kneeling on her porch, her long honey-blond hair spilling over her shoulders in wild disarray. Her night dress was soaked with blood, no doubt coming from the still body in her lap. She rocked back and forth, clutching the man to her chest, tears streaming down her face._

_He ran into the yard, and onto the porch. The man, Bungo, was dead, with his throat torn out, his hazel eyes staring into space. Thorin watched helplessly as the woman closed his eyes, pressing desperate kisses to his forehead. She murmured a quiet apology and got to her feet._

_“Bilba!”_

_A bedraggled child came to the door, clutching a kitchen knife in her bloody hand. She couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old, still carrying baby fat in her cheeks. Her eyes were puffy, but Thorin knew right away they were hazel. Her hair, the same color as her mother’s, was matted with blood._

_Bilba’s mother pulled her into a tight embrace, whispering to her softly as the child fell into her arms. Once they pulled apart again, Thorin could see a resolved look in Bilba’s eyes, her grip around the knife tightening. She followed her mother into the house and closed the door as the picture faded from his vision._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Pain was the first thing Thorin felt upon waking. Every limb and muscle of his body was roaring in agony, jolting his brain awake and tearing him from the confusing dream world he'd been ensconced in. He tried to sit up, struggling out of the cocoon of blankets around him, but was restrained by a warm, solid hand. 

“Nice of you to rejoin the land of the living, Thorin,” a familiar voice teased, pushing him back down into his pillows. 

Thorin turned his head to find Gandalf staring down at him, a wan smile lighting his tired face. 

“Gandalf?” he croaked, not fully believing he was awake. Never in a million years would he have pictured the wizard at his sickbed. He had to still be dreaming. 

“Yes, my boy. You gave us quite a scare.” The old man was smiling fondly at him, with dark circles under his eyes. He was even more rumpled than usual, his clothes looking as if he had slept in them. 

“Us?”

“Yes us, you great bloody idiot!” 

Dwalin was standing in the doorway looking murderous, blocking Thorin's view of the next room. He stalked over to the bed, scowling at Gandalf and Thorin indiscriminately, as if they were there just to annoy him. 

“You are a git, Thorin Oakenshield,” he stated, lip quivering. “A brave, stupid git.” He wiped at his eyes, and Thorin grinned even though it hurt. 

Another figure appearing in the door made his breath catch. 

Billie.

The smaller hunter stepped into the room, staring at Thorin as if she’d seen a ghost. His breath stuck fast in his chest as he took her in. She could best be described as battered, a spectacular black eye blooming on her pallid face, gashes marring her chin and neck. She walked stiffly, as if it pained her to move, her lip twitching as she struggled to mask the discomfort. 

“Billie…” Thorin’s voice shook as he called her, the harsh words of their last interaction running through his head and spawning another bout of gnawing guilt. 

Her eyes never left his as she came closer. 

“You!” he groaned at her. “What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!” Gandalf and Dwalin exchanged anxious looks. “Did I not say you didn’t belong here? That you had no place in this quest?” 

Thorin sat up, grimacing at the pain that shot through him at the movement. Despite his angry tone, Billie came closer still, until she was seated on the edge of the bed, looking wan and wary. 

“I’ve never been so wrong in all my life,” he breathed, suddenly pulling her to his chest. She uttered a squeak of surprise as he embraced her, ignoring the throb of his many wounds. Thorin caught the smirk on Gandalf’s lips as Billie hugged him back, burying her nose in his mane of hair. “I am sorry I doubted you.”

“No, I would have doubted me too. I’m not a hero or a fighter...barely even a hunter anymore,.” Billie mumbled, as she pulled back, the smile that now lit up her face making her injuries look less grievous. Thorin cupped her chin, turning her face in his hand. He ignored the smug look on Dwalin’s face as he spoke. 

“I am so sorry. This is all my fault,” he apologized again. “If I had just listened to you… If we hadn’t split up-”

“Thorin, it’s alright,” she interrupted, taking his hand between both of hers comfortingly. “We’re both alright.” 

“Yer both idiots,” Dwalin added, crossing his arms. “Taking on not one, but two alphas without asking them first.” He looked over at Gandalf. “I told ye we should’ve told them-”

“Asking!?” Thorin growled at his friend. “You want us to ask- Wait , what you should have told us?” 

“Thorin, you’ll pull your stitches!” Billie warned, rubbing circles on the back on his hand. 

Gandalf had the audacity to look sheepish, hands combing absentmindedly through his hair. “You don’t have to kill them to get the tooth and claw…” he murmured, smiling awkwardly. “Alphas will usually be amenable to making a deal if-” 

Thorin could feel his blood boil, hot and thick. That information would have changed the situation all together, it could have saved his and Billie’s lives. 

“And you just thought to leave that out?” Thorin roared, despite Billie’s grip on his hand. He was flat out tired of the wizard’s manipulations and lies. 

“I thought you knew. You’ve had enough experience!” the wizard shot back.

“I don’t make a habit of talking to vamps, Gandalf,” Thorin growled, sitting up further. “I make a habit of killing them! You sent us in blind. We could have been killed!” 

“We’re both fine, Thorin,” Billie added quickly, looking back and forth between the two men. 

“That’s not the point!” Thorin shot back. He looked at her for a second and frowned. 

“Why were you there anyway?” he croaked. “You were supposed to take out the werewolf.”

Billie fidgeted uncomfortably. “Well… Something didn’t feel right about the vamp, so I followed you..… and called Bofur,” she admitted, twirling her hair nervously. Thorin gave a snort at the name. 

“She got a hold of Gandalf and Dwalin, and we came to help. We didn’t know the were was there too. And you were bleeding, and it took us a while to calm them down after what happened-” she babbled. 

“Calm them down?” 

 

Gandalf sighed. “Yes, calm them down. Did you really think you could kill an alpha werewolf, you fool?” the old man snapped at Thorin. “Now can we get back to the matter at hand, please. Azog has moved the stone.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

“This is all we have to do? Nothing you’re withholding?” Thorin asked testily as he watched Billie take the knife from Dwalin. They were still in the house Thorin had woken up in, a safe house that apparently belonged to Nori. 

“Yes, yes,” Gandalf huffed, clearly through with Thorin’s newly raised levels of distrust. Thorin’s bad mood had not abated any after he’d listened to the wizard’s story. 

Despite the information Nori had given them, Azog had decided for some reason to move the stone earlier than they’d anticipated. It was most likely she had caught a whiff of their plan. Nevertheless, Nori and Dwalin had already done a little recon on the stone’s new owner and found it in the possession of a seemingly ordinary man named Mr. Smaug Dreki and his wife, Jewel. 

The weird thing was that Smaug was just a regular guy, from what they could tell. No supernatural powers, no demonic connections, just an normal Joe. Something was strange there, and Thorin hated not knowing exactly what they were walking into … again. 

“I’d feel better if you were using my blood,” he called out to Billie as she rolled up the sleeve of her sweater. 

“I don’t caaaareeeee,” she sang back at him, grinning. “You’re in no position to argue right now, Thorin.” 

Thorin huffed. There was no winning with her. 

He saw Billie suck in a breath as she dragged the glinting knife across her wrist, blood welling in the center. She took a final glance at the book Elrond had given them and slowly began to trace the Horn of Gabriel in her blood on the living room wall. 

She had just finished drawing the last point when the floor began to quiver. The windows vibrated, clattering within their panes, the whole house shaking. The dim sunlight that had been flooding in through the windows changed drastically, becoming so bright Thorin had to close his eyes to avoid being blinded. Even from under his closed lids, the light was startling. 

“Who dares summon an angel of the Lord?” a voice drawled as the light faded. Thorin’s eyes snapped open to behold two blond men standing in the middle of the room, glowering at the bleeding woman before them. 

They were tall, and fair, with hair so light it was almost white. What was the most off-putting about them though was that they were dressed in regular street clothes, the taller man in a gray suit and the shorter man in jeans and a flannel shirt. 

“Aren’t angels supposed to have wings and halos, and, uh, I don’t know, flowing garments?” Thorin asked without thinking. 

The two men whipped around to face him, blue eyes glowing. “These are but vessels, mortal,” said the taller man haughtily, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Our true forms are bigger than your Empire State Building and would incinerate your eyes.” 

“Compensating for something?” 

“Thorin!” Billie snapped, drawing the angels’ attention from the other hunter and back to her. “It was I who summoned you. We need a favor.” 

“What favor do you ask of the Heavenly host?” the taller one drawled, staring down at Billie as if she was a bug, small and worthless. Thorin’s fist clenched. 

“We need a feather… please Si- What are your names?” 

The tall angel hesitated, looking at his companion as if debating whether mere mortals were worthy of it. The smaller man spoke first. 

“My name in your tongue is Legolas, and this is Thranduil, the commander of our garrison,” he said pleasantly enough. “Why do you ask for a feather?” 

“For a spell,” Billie answered, looking from one angel to the other, her eyes wide with wonder and fear. Dwalin, and Gandalf stood stock-still, as if frozen. Nori was looking the angels up and down, his face green with nausea. 

“We-I need it to bind the Arkenstone. It’s a powerful evil object that-” 

“We know of the Arkenstone, mortal,” Thranduil snickered , his eyes flaring with interest as he, looked back and forth between Thorin and Billie. “Why do you seek such evil?” 

Billie swallowed, her whole body trembling slightly. “Not for us. We seek to get rid of it, if we can. But until then, to remove it from evil hands.” 

Thranduil regarded the hunters for a moment, the haughty look on his face dropping. “You are not lying,” his commanding voice toned down to a normal tenor. “I would seek a small favor of you in return.” 

Thorin didn’t like the sound of that. What would an all-powerful angel want from a human? He took a small step towards them, trying to get to Billie’s side before he was stopped by an invisible force. 

“Do not move, human,” Legolas instructed quietly, holding his hand out flat in Thorin’s direction. “We will not harm her.” 

Thorin growled, unable to take another step. He had to watch, unable to move as the angel made his “small” request. 

“I seek the Arkenstone as well, to destroy it in Heaven,” Thranduil said mildly. “I will give you the feather, if, after you have retrieved the stone and bound it, you will relinquish it to me. If you cross me, you both shall feel my full wrath. Is that amenable to you, humans?” 

He turned to face Thorin, his eyes glowing with power again. The hunter could see the flicker of his formidable wings in the shadows, could feel his strength like electricity in the air. 

“You have to promise you won’t hurt her,” Thorin snarled, his nails biting into the flesh of his hand. “I will make sure you get the stone. We don’t want it anyway.” 

Thranduil laughed, a harsh grating sound as if his vocal cords were not used to such action. “You say that now, human, but I sense a weakness in you. How can you be certain?” 

“Do you want the stone or not?” the hunter barked, the angel’s attitude depleting his already short reserve of patience. 

“It is a deal,” Thranduil answered icily, proffering a hand to Billie, who shook it gingerly, and then, in turn, offering it to Thorin. 

Scowling, Thorin grabbed his hand, shaking it harshly. No sooner had he touched it, than the angels disappeared in a rustle of wings, leaving the hunter with a handful of soft angel feathers. 

“Well, that was easy,” Thorin said, but the looks on his companions’ faces told him, it was going to be anything but.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with Awesome fanart c/o beng: 
> 
> Thranduil as an Angel:   
> [](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/Siralop/media/Scan_20150612_165019_001.jpg.html)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Smaug's wife

“This is not a good plan, Nori,” Thorin protested as he, Billie, Nori and Dwalin strode up the sidewalk, the sun shining brightly in his eyes. Despite the cool weather, he was incredibly uncomfortable in the suit Gandalf had insisted he wear for this particular mission. 

“It’s the only plan we’ve got,” the thief hissed back, picking a fleck of lint off his shoulder. Unlike the rest of them, Nori looked like the suit was part of him, like he belonged in it. 

“We’ll think of another one,” Thorin shot back, moving his shoulders. The suit jacket gave a feeble rip, pulling at the seams. 

“Stop moving so much!” Billie hissed behind him. She was dressed in an ill-fitting dress suit, looking similarly uncomfortable. 

“News flash, darling,” Nori responded acidly, never breaking his stride. “Your plans suck, that’s why we’re using mine.” 

He was all smiles as they approached the door, his shark’s smirk sheathed. Nori looked impeccable, not a hair out of place as he rapped smartly on the door. 

The house was the embodiment of normal. It was a small, white ranch style with a porch and a two car garage, flanked on either side by a lush green lawn. The front flower beds were dotted with azalea bushes and small shrubs, and there were wine barrel planters on either side of the slate walkway. 

“Are you sure we have the right house?” Thorin ventured, peeking around. The Arkenstone, one of the most powerful evil objects known to man, was here? In a lovely little house in a suburban neighborhood? 

“Yes, now zip it!” Nori mumbled through clenched teeth as the front door opened slowly. 

Thorin stared, almost expecting some hideous monster to pop out. He was pleasantly surprised by the pretty young woman who opened the door. 

“Can I help you?” 

Her voice was bright and clear as she stared at the four hunters congregated on her front step. Her dark blonde hair was tucked back in a loose bun, curly tendrils framing her plump heart-shaped face. She was wearing a simple house dress, much like the one Thorin had seen Billie wearing all those weeks ago at her cabin. Her belly was round with pregnancy, her face healthy and glowing. 

“Hello, Mrs. Dreki, I presume,” Nori started, fishing a badge out of his pocket. “My name is Special Agent McCartney. I’m with the FBI. These are my associates Agents Lennon, Harrison and Starkey. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” 

The woman looked startled, but recovered quickly. “Of course, Agents.” She opened the door and led them inside. 

 

The house was nicely furnished and very clean, Thorin noticed as he followed the others through the foyer into the hall. There were framed pictures on the wall, all of the woman and a red-haired man wrapped up in each other, beaming at the camera. It was clear from the amount of pictures they’d been married for some time. 

The hunters followed her through the great room and finally into the dining area. It was furnished just as well as the rest of the house, with a mahogany dining room set and black granite countertops on the kitchen island. She motioned for them to sit at the table and busied herself making tea. 

“Please call me Jewel. Now what can I do for you?” 

Nori cleared his throat. “We just have a few questions about your husband. Has he been acting strange lately? Secretive?”

“N-no. Nothing out of the ordinary,” she mumbled, turning away from them to busy herself at the kitchen counter. Nori and Dwalin exchanged knowing glances. 

“Ma’m,” Thorin started. “We need you to answer us truthfully. Your husband may be in danger…” 

She flipped around, her eyes wide. “What kind of danger?” 

Billie threw Thorin a disgruntled look. “Nothing imminent, Mrs. Dreki. We have some information that your husband may be involved in business with a woman named Azog.” 

“Azog is a friend, who helped us with some… personal matters,” she replied carefully, her hand unconsciously rubbing her large stomach. 

“In what way did she help?” Thorin pressed further. 

Color flooded the woman’s cheeks and she swallowed nervously before answering. 

“Smaug and I have been trying to have a child for years. Nothing worked. Azog offered an alternative option,” she mumbled before returning to pouring tea at the counter. 

“Alternative option?” Nori asked, nodding his thanks as she deposited a cup of steaming tea in front of him. 

Serving the rest of the hunters, Jewel joined them at the table again, chewing anxiously on her lip. She stared at her tea cup, not looking at them as she spoke. 

“After our fourth IVF attempt, it seemed hopeless. We got turned down to adopt and we were desperate,” she explained, gently rubbing her belly again. “And then we met Azog. She didn’t ask for anything, she just helped… Do you believe in miracles, agents?” 

Dwalin, Nori, Billie and Thorin exchanged skeptical looks. No, hunters didn’t believe in miracles. They knew too much to be hoodwinked by bedtime stories and other nonsensical rubbish. 

“Begging your pardon, Ma’am,” Billie said, looking directly at the other woman. “Azog doesn’t deal in miracles. She deals in magic, and not pleasant magic at that. Has your husband ever spoken of a stone?” 

Jewel started a little, and Thorin knew at once what she was hiding, the pieces coming together in his head. Smaug had used the stone to wish for a child. 

“I suppose he hasn’t told you about what the stone does,” Thorin’s tongue got away from him. 

Jewel regarded him for a moment. “It grants wishes.” 

“That’s not all,” Thorin pressed on. “It grants wishes, but at a terrible cost. We can help you fix it. If you give us the stone -”

“I’ll lose my baby, won’t I?” Jewel’s eyes became hard as she looked from one hunter to the next. 

Not one of them answered her right away. There was a very uncomfortable moment of silence, hanging like a bad smell between them. 

“Most likely,” Billie said, her voice clear but weighty. From her tone, Thorin didn’t have to look at her to know her lashes would be heavy with tears. “But if you don’t give us the stone, a lot more people will die. It won’t be just you, or your husband, but scores of other people. The stone doesn’t care, as long as it gets its pound of flesh.”

“I don’t care,” Jewel said harshly. “I’ve sacrificed too much for this baby. I will not give him up at the word of strangers.” 

“But-” 

“I think you should leave now,” she cut Billie off, glaring daggers at all of them. 

No one spoke until after she slammed the door on their retreating backs.

“Good plan,” Thorin murmured as they descended the porch. 

“Zip it!” Nori snapped waspishly, shooting the other hunter a rude hand gesture. 

Thorin made a noncommittal noise as they trudged back the way they came, returning to the safe house to come up with a new plan.

~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the day and most of the next did not bear fruit in regards to a better plan. Every suggestion was shot down by either Gandalf or Nori for some reason or another and their increasingly uninspired brainstorming session had only ended when Thorin thundered out of the room and slammed the door behind him. 

He kept picturing Smaug’s wife in his head, a woman wanting a child so much she was willing to sell her soul to have one. He couldn’t hope to understand the lengths some people would go just to reproduce. If Thorin was honest with himself, he had never counted children into any of his life plans. Hunters died young, and if they were lucky enough to become parents, their offspring was normally consigned to the same short, hard life. Billie was enough proof of that. 

Billie. Thorin couldn’t bear to look at his partner, couldn’t stand to be near her, knowing she could have died because of him. His arrogance and stupidity could have ended her life, and he couldn’t stand that. He immediately reverted to his old modus operandi: growling and avoidance.

Thorin was trying to hide in one of the back bedrooms when she found him. 

“Out with it,” she commanded, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“What?” he griped, looking up from the book he was trying — and failing — to concentrate on. 

“There’s something bothering you.” She silenced him with a hand when he opened his mouth to protest. “You’re not exactly as subtle as you think you are, Thorin Oakenshield. Now out with it.” 

Thorin wanted to snap at her but knew it was no use. If he tried to derail the discussion, she would pout at him and he would crumble like a rock made of Jello. 

“I could have killed you-”

“Could have being the key words here,” she said to him gently. “But you didn’t. As you’ve said before, we’re hunters, and hunters die. I mean, I’d like to live and get back to my flowers, but if I die, I die. Either way, it wouldn’t have been your fault.”

Thorin did not want to think about it happening. He didn’t want to even come close to that horrible thought. How had she become so dear to him in such a short time? 

“Who’s being cavalier now?” he smiled weakly at her, a slow warmth blooming in his stomach at the momentary flicker of surprise that crossed her face. 

“You must be rubbing off on me,” she griped, sitting down on the bed next to him. He could feel the heat radiating off her body and hear the healthy beat of her heart. “We’re spending too much time together. Next you’ll be wanting to settle down and plant tomatoes!”

Grinning now, Thorin impulsively took her hand. 

“Actually, that doesn’t sound half-bad.” 

Her eyes widened for a moment and then she smirked. “Who are you and what have you done with Thorin?” 

~~~~~~~

They didn’t expect to see Jewel again so soon. In fact they hadn’t expected to see her at all, but there she was, a day later, staring at them from the open door of the diner. The other patrons merely watched her arrival, a few of them nodding in recognition. The restaurant was the only one in the small town, a local watering hole where generations of town residents had grown up. 

Billie and Thorin had gone to get something there, when she walked up to their table and sat down, her eyes red and puffy. She looked like she’d barely slept, her hair knotty and unkempt. She had dark shadows under her eyes and a bit of a tremor in her gait. 

“May I talk to you please?” she asked, her voice raw, as if she’d been crying. Billie nodded and motioned for the woman to take a seat. 

She flopped down next to Billie, sniffled loudly and then began to talk. 

“There’s something wrong with my husband,” she said quietly, her bottom lip quivering. “He’s- he’s not himself anymore.” 

Jewel pulled up her sleeves, and Thorin had to fight an urge to throw up. There, on her white skin, were bruises in the clear shape of handprints, as if someone had grabbed her, hard. 

“Did he-?” 

She nodded jerkily. “He’s been away… with Azog for a couple days, and he came back last night after you left. There’s something wrong… there’s no life in his eyes. You have to fix him!” she cried, the tears that had gathered on her fair lashes falling over her splotched cheeks. “I know you aren’t agents, but I know you can help...” 

“How did you find us?” Thorin interjected tactlessly. 

Billie shot him an ugly look as she put her arm around the shaking woman’s shoulders. “Don’t mind him. We’ll do what we can, Mrs. Dreki,” she said gently, giving her shoulder a comforting pat. 

“How did you find us?” he repeated, at little more gently this time. If some suburban housewife could find them this easily, what else could be hunting them?

Jewel looked up at him, her face eerily blank. “Your truck, no one around here drives a truck like that…”

The hunter had to suppress an urge to roll his eyes.

“Where is the stone?” Thorin asked, his stomach mostly back under control. For all the blood and death he’d seen in his lifetime, the thought of someone abusing a pregnant woman sickened him to his core. 

Jewel wiped her tears with the heel of her hand. “It’s in the house, locked in the strongbox in the basement. He brought it back with him.” She gave another sniffle, reaching for the handkerchief in her purse. “When I asked about it… that’s when he grabbed me.” 

Thorin took her hand, moving before the thought even reached his brain. He had never been good at comforting women, especially crying ones, but this felt right. 

“It’ll be alright,” he crooned. “We can protect you. I promise.” 

Jewel squeezed his hand in response.

“We need a plan,” Billie whispered in the background, more to herself than to anyone else. If they bound the stone before it did any damage, there might still be a chance for Jewel and her baby. 

“Smaug works late tomorrow night. He won’t be home until well after midnight. Everything should be fine until then,” Jewel told them. 

Thorin looked from her hand to her face, lingering momentarily on the purple bruises that decorated her wrists. He was not so sure. 

~~~~~

As soon as they stepped into the house, Thorin could tell something was wrong. Even though the porch light was on, the rest of the house was mostly dark, not the home of someone expecting company. 

The thud of their shoes and whoosh of their breaths sounded like thunder in his ears, as he strained to pick up something. ‘Maybe she’s gone to sleep,” he thought hopefully as he cautiously stepped forward, Nori and Billie behind him, mirroring his steps. Dwalin took up the rear, making sure they weren’t followed. 

It was the smallest noise that caught his attention, a muffled cry of pain that drew him like a fishing reel to the basement door. Thorin’s heart constricted in panic as he located the door and dashed down the stairs. Dwalin grunted, nodding for the others to follow him. Nori and Billie fell into step, Nori bringing up the rear, his gun drawn. 

Jewel was lying on the floor across the room, struggling to breathe. Thorin could smell her blood now, hot and thick, threatening to upend his stomach once again. When had be become so squeamish? 

Her eyes brightened when she saw him, them, coming to her rescue. She almost smiled as she reached up at him, her fingers completely red.

The old oriental rug had soaked up some of her blood around her. The basement was sparsely furnished, oilcloths thrown over old furniture to protect it. The only light was from a naked bulb dangling precariously from the ceiling, thick with dust. 

“You warned me…” she said finally, tiredly as Thorin knelt down at her side. She slid her hand into his, smearing her cooling blood in his damp palm. “I should have listened.”

“Shhh, it’ll be okay,” he tried to assure her, clutching her hand between both of his. 

“It’s not good to lie, Agent,” she murmured. “I had to have one last look before you took it. As soon as I touched it, the baby started kicking and…” she trailed off. Behind him, someone sucked in a harsh breath. There were two sets of boots on either side of him, though in that moment, he didn’t care who they belonged to. On the other side of Jewel, Billie had begun to cry, trying to hold back the noises unsuccessfully as she stroked the other woman’s hair. 

Thorin looked down to see the blood pooling out from under her dress, smeared over her swollen belly, streaked down her bare legs. Her free hand was lying hidden in the folds of her dress. 

After the shock set in, Thorin began to process what he was actually seeing. It wasn’t just blood, there were … dark shapes dotting the puddle, ropes of glistening–Horrified, he had to push the thought of what they were away before he lost what remained of his lunch. 

Billie hadn’t. Her crying had evolved into full-on retching, trying to hold it back. Her eyes were wide with horror, one hand clutching at her own stomach. 

Thorin wondered vaguely if she was thinking about the children she hoped to have, about the price of bringing them into this world. Jewel was a suburban house wife, not a hunter like them. If it wasn’t safe for her child, what chance did theirs stand? 

Theirs. 

It hit him like a ton of bricks. Their hypothetical children, his children with Billie. What would he have to do to keep them safe? He glanced down dazedly at the dying woman in front of him. 

“He killed me. I wanted him so much, and he killed me. My precious,” Jewel babbled, bringing her free hand into the light. In her bloody fingers, was clutched the most magnificent gem Thorin had ever seen. Even smeared with blood, it was glowing, almost swirling with opalescent light. He was so entranced by it, he didn’t even register Jewel’s other hand going limp in his, all thought driven from his mind. 

Billie was behind him in what seemed like an instant, her small hand comforting and warm on his shoulder. 

“You have to let her go, Thorin,” she whispered, turning him towards her. He looked up at her dazed. Her cheeks bore the telltale signs of crying, but it seemed only a second ago she had been gasping across from him. The other hunters were looking at him strangely, and the blood on his hands was sticky and dry. He had lost track of time in the mesmerizing magnificence of the stone. How was that possible? 

Thorin let Jewel’s hand drop to the floor, as he closed her lovely blue eyes for the last time. Nori turned to reach for the stone, but Thorin growled at him before taking it himself. 

“I’ll handle it,” he snapped quickly, gathering the still glowing stone into his jacket pocket. 

The thief gave him an odd look and shrugged, turning to leave. 

As they trudged up the stairs, Thorin found himself stopping for a moment, just to peek at the treasure finally in his possession. It glowed brighter, as if responding to his attentions, asking gently for his heart’s desire, promising tantalizing power and absolute fulfillment.

_It’s mine, my own… My precious…_


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we end on a low note

It had been days since Thorin had slept. Every time he tried, every time he closed his eyes, he felt like he was suffocating in Jewel’s blood that, hot and thick, was rising to drown him in his vulnerability. And when he did sleep, hellish nightmares jerked him awake, only to find that mere minutes had passed. 

He lost the sense of time, days blurring together with flashes of startling detail. The only constant was the cool, smooth feeling of the Arkenstone in his pocket and a tantalizing whisper in the back of his mind, on repeat: 

_Mine… my own… My precious…_

He had vivid waking dreams of the good he could do with the stone, how he would rid the world of the monsters that stalked and killed, and tore. He could avenge his brother. He would be hailed as a hero among hunters, unite them under a common cause, and the stone would make them all victorious…

But the others didn’t understand. 

He had spilled blood across the kitchen floor, his knuckles colliding with the fine bones of Nori’s face when the thief had dared to question Thorin’s vision. He broke his nose and crushed he cheek bone before Dwalin could pull him off. 

Dwalin had come to him after, with Nori’s blood dried on his hands. “You cannot see what you have become,” his friend had told him, but it was him who did not see, who couldn't see that out of this tragedy, they had been given a gift, and it would be a kick in the teeth of destiny/their luck? not to use it. His friend had finally given up. 

Billie was the only one who did not harrow him. She was just there, silent and comforting with her warm smile and soothing hands. It was she who kept him from showing the others what kind of work the stone could do, she who took care of him

 

~~~~~~~~

Tonight, everything was quiet in the woods outside Nori’s safehouse. It was beautiful, untouched in a way he hadn’t seen in years. Even some of the most rural places Thorin found spoiled by the humanity. It was the first time he’d been out of the house in days, at Billie’s suggestion. Being cooped up wasn’t good for anyone, she had said, and taking a walk would clear his head. He was sitting on some rock thinking of her when he heard footsteps behind him. It was Gandalf. 

‘He looks like a stormcloud,’ Thorin thought, regarding the wizard with distrust. ‘Bringing evil tidings.’ His assessment was correct. 

Gandalf was more imposing than ever, his shabby clothing replaced with a crisp gray suit and shined leather shoes, covered with a layer of dust. He didn’t look like the same man who had dragged Thorin on this quest, nor the man who he’d woken up to sitting worried at his bed side. He looked every inch the wizard of his long reputation. 

“I misjudged you, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf boomed, his hand clutching a white wooden staff. 

“I would say the same, wizard,’ he retorted, rising from the rock and drawing himself up to his full size. The anger bubbling in his veins caught him by surprise, and it wasn’t the dull anger he was used to. It was a roaring fire, threatening to overtake him any minute he let his guard down and it started where the stone made contact in his pocket. 

“This is your last chance,” Gandalf threatened. “Give it to me.”

“No, ” Thorin sneered. “There is so much good I can do with it. It is a gift, a gift to hunters everywhere. We die and bleed for humanity, why not use this? I could use it, unite the hunters, rid the world of evil, Gandalf, once and for all!”

“You can’t use it, Thorin. It was made for evil, and even the best intentions won’t stop it,” Gandalf answered, holding out his hand for the stone. “The angels will not take this insult lightly. They are not forgiving creatures. One last chance.”

Thorin’s hand was in his pocket at once, his thumb running over the smoothness on the stone. 

Mine… my precious…

“The answer is still no.” Thorin gripped the Arkenstone in his hand as he stared Gandalf down. 

“Fine. The blood is on your hands then.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The dreams that robbed him of his sleep had left days of exaggerated clarity in their wake, giving him trouble as the memory of each hour blurred together in a litany of sensory overload. He had stopped trying to keep them straight, if only for the relief. He was left lethargic and washed out from the effort. He didn't even know how many hours or days had passed since his confrontation with Gandalf, when Billie came in with his dinner. The rest of the company avoided him.

“Thorin?” she creaked the door open, peeking in at him from the hallway. In her hands was a tray with something smelling deliciously. His stomach gave a loud growl. He hadn't eaten anything since…

“Come in,” he said, his voice feeling rusty from misuse. 

He rose stiffly to greet Billie, raking her with his eyes, drinking her in. He had never seen her dressed like this. Gone was the worn house dress and the frumpy hunter's gear, replaced with a pair of snug jeans and a form-fitting t-shirt, nipples poking through the soft fabric. She even smelled different, more feminine, more enticing. Instead of the green apple scent of shampoo, there was a deep musky aroma, and it clouded his head. 

She opened the tray cover, revealing steak and potatoes, dripping with grease and sour. It was paired with broccoli, lightly dressed. She'd also brought a bottle of good red wine. His mouth was watering just looking at it.

“Will you stay with me?” Thorin asked lightly. He reached for her hand. “Please.”

Billie hesitated for just a moment, here eyes flicking back and forth. She crossed the room and set the tray on the bed, seeing as he had no table. “Of course I will. Where else would I be?” She smiled at him, her lips red. Did she have lipstick on?

She poured him a glass of wine and then one for herself, taking a deep drink of it. Thorin found that he couldn't take his eyes off of Billie. It was as if he was seeing her in a whole new light. Each cut of her steak sent his eyes to the jiggle of her bosom, each bite driving him back up to her lips. What was happening to him? He finished his food quickly, too busy staring to properly enjoy how vivid the flavors were on his tongue. As his appetite for food was slaked, his need of another kind was rising, sending pleasant stabs of arousal through his body. 

Thorin slid his hand in his pocket to stroke the Arkenstone, but that seemed to only make it worse. Each swipe of the smooth surface inflamed him even more, until his attention was no longer on his food. 

“B-Billie?” His voice was shaking as he struggled to keep himself under control. He didn’t want to scare her. Even in his madness, he had no wish to hurt her, simply make her his.

She looked up from her dinner, smiling at him with her full red lips. “Yes, Thorin?” 

“Billie, I-“ He couldn’t get the words out. He inched closer across the bed, the tray clattering to the floor as he closed the space between them. 

To his surprise, Billie moved closer, pressing herself against him. “I’ve always wanted this,” she purred, her hand stroking his hair. “Please, Thorin.” 

With his name on her lips, Thorin stopped trying to resist what his body was telling him and pulled her to him. He devoured her, her lips sweet under his own, tasting of wine. 

He wanted… he needed…

His hands had a mind of their own, ruffling through her hair, over shoulders, against her soft belly. Under the hem of her shirt, there was delicate perfumed skin, begging to be caressed. Thorin made quick work of her shirt, upending it and flinging it to the floor. She was gloriously bare under it, freckles dotting her collarbone and tops of her breasts. Billie sighed against him as he touched her, his rough callused hands tweaking her nipples, feeling the weight of her breast against his palms. He skimmed the old scars on her ribcage, delighting in the sounds she made when he ran his fingers over them. 

Billie’s hands were not idle either. They roamed through his hair, dancing down his face, caressing his jaw, as she kissed him. Her fingers teased his collar, dipping to toy with the dark hair poking out. His shirt soon joined hers on the floor, leaving her full access to the wide expanse of his chest. 

Thorin didn’t have the time to be self-conscious. He knew his torso wasn’t nice to look at, being littered with faded scars and old shiny burns. But Billie didn’t care, she bent to kiss each mark, the light touch of her warm lips on his skin sending shivers over him. 

His heart was pounding in his chest as he pushed her back into the pillows, maneuvering himself over . His emotions were a tangled mess, want and need drowning every other feeling he had towards her. He felt feral, wild, wanting to mark her and claim her for himself. 

_Mine…my precious…_

Thorin squeezed her sides, loving the soft flesh between his fingers. He tore at the zipper at her pants, pulling them over her hips and down her legs roughly. Billie kissed him as he did so, her lips landing on his cheek, his face, his neck. 

He pressed open mouthed kisses up her belly, nibbling at the waistband of her panties. She squealed as his tongue dipped inside, leaving a trail on her hot flesh. 

Billie pulled him away, smirking as she undid the fly of his jeans. He had to stand up to get them off, pulling off his boxers along with his pants. He didn’t hear the dull clunk as the heavy gem in his pocket hit the floor. 

Thorin climbed back onto the bed, where Billie was lying, looking deliciously rumpled, the only thing between them a flimsy scrap of lace. Her honey blond curls were in disarray, her eyes large, with pupils dark like berries blocking out her irises. Her skin was marked with red where he had sucked and bitten, leaving reminders of his touch. Something expanded in his chest as he pulled her in for a kiss, but it was quickly replaced by the insistent need that had burrowed into him, blocking out everything else. 

Billie gasped into his mouth as he drew her panties down her legs and over her knees. They joined the growing pile on the floor. Now she was completely bared to him, heart and soul, completely and solely his. That thought contented him, hummed in his bloodstream, filling his cock. 

He could have died when she touched him, tiny hands caressing him, drawing his foreskin back over the head, hefting the weight of him in her palm. She felt so small beneath him as his hand ghosted over her hip, trailing down her lower belly to her core. 

Billie was already soaked when he touched her, teasing between her folds. She keened as he pressed a finger inside, her muscles squeezing against the intrusion. He rubbed at her clit with the pad of his thumb, and she arched into him, wanting more. 

“Thorin,” her voice was low and husky as she pulled him closer. “Thorin, please…”

He needed no more prompting. Pressing her back onto the pillows and steadying himself with his arm, he lined himself up with her opening and pressed forward roughly. He ignored her gasp of pain as he sheathed himself inside her insistently, her fingers digging into him. Thorin reared back and buried himself again, loving how her cries sounded in his ears. He set a bruising pace, spurred on by her whimpers and moans. 

 

_Mine… my own…_

 

“Mine,” he growled, biting into her shoulder, breaking the tender skin there. 

He thrust forward, his need growing with the taste of her blood on his lips. A little voice in his head tried to slow him down, but Thorin drowned it out with another snarl as he fucked her. 

She held onto to him tightly, her breasts bouncing with the force of him. 

Breathing heavily, Thorin slowed for a minute and Billie pushed against him, a wicked smile on her face. “Lie down.” 

He did as she commanded, lying down on his back, his hard cock bobbing against his stomach. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, she straddled him and guided him inside her, planting her hands on his abdomen. 

Thorin knew he wouldn’t last long with her on top, the angle just felt too good for him to be able to resist it for long, so he concentrated on getting her off first. He played with her as she rode him, rolling her clit between his fingers, watching her body above him. 

She was truly magnificent, with her damp hair flying around her head, face flushed with heat. The rhythm she kept was brutal, her breasts bouncing in time. 

Her orgasm caught him by surprise, as Billie clamped down on him, shaking and crying out her release. The tightness was too much for him, and he gladly followed her, his hands grabbing her thighs with bruising force. 

Sweaty and breathing hard, Billie dropped down beside Thorin, her head cushioned on his shoulder. He pulled her closer, burying his nose in her hair. Her perfume had faded, and she smelled like herself again, warm vanilla and good, wet earth.

_Mine… my precious…_

“Billie,” he murmured, yawning as drowsiness started to take him. “I love you...”   
She snuggled closer to him, her face hidden against his shoulder. “I love you too,” she murmured, pulling the blanket over them. 

Thorin fell happily into sleep, his arm around the woman he loved. 

But when he awoke in the early rays of morning sunlight, she was gone, and so was the stone.

~~~~~

“WHERE IS IT?” Thorin bellowed, tearing apart his room. He had at least had the foresight to pull on his cold jeans before bursting out of the bedroom in a rage. The Arkenstone was gone! 

The scene was similar to the last breakfast he remembered, with Nori and Dwalin milling about the kitchen. Only one thing was different – Billie and Gandalf were missing. 

Thorin was breathing like a wounded animal, glaring at the others. 

“Where is it? Who took it? It’s mine!” he shouted. Dwalin moved in front of Nori, his body taut like a bowstring. 

Thorin charged forward, and Dwalin blocked him with a meaty arm across his chest. 

“Let me go!” Thorin barked at his friend. “Do you have it?” he accused roughly, tussling with the bigger man. 

“Calm down,” Dwalin grabbed Thorin’s wrist, holding him still. “I don’t. It’s gone.”

Behind Dwalin, Nori stared. 

Thorin felt his heart drop in his chest. It was gone…? How was it gone? Where had it gone? He was seeing red, straining against his friend’s grip. He wanted to hurt him… wanted to kill…

“It was me,” came a sudden voice through the door. “And it’s gone.”

Thorin turned to find Billie standing in the doorway, her eyes puffy and red. The bite mark Thorin had left on her neck had bloomed into spectacular hues of black and purple, peeking out from under the collar of her green cotton dress. 

Billie had betrayed him? She of all people… his love… his own…

“Gone?” he whimpered, the immediacy of the fight taken out of him by this new revelation. 

“I gave it to the angels.” Billie stepped closer to him. As she neared, he found more reminders of what had transpired the night before, a bruise on her upper arm from his fingers, her lips chapped raw by his beard; he could even smell his scent on her skin. She had risen from his bed and betrayed him, or maybe… he thought in a moment of terrible clarity… maybe she had gone to his bed with the plans already in her head…

Thorin closed the distance between them in less than a moment, grabbing Billie by the collar of her dress. 

“You miserable... burglar!” he roared, lifting her from the floor and pushing her into the wall. 

“Thorin-” she rasped, fingernails digging into his hands as she fought against him. Her hazel eyes were pools of fear and regret, pleading with him to drop her. 

“You rat! I trusted you... You gave it to them!” Thorin yelled, tightening his grip on her throat. He pressed his thumbs against her windpipe, feeling the delicate column begin to collapse under pressure. Billie wheezed, tears beading on her lashes as she struggled. The bite-mark on her neck opened up under his onslaught, coating his palm with her blood. Thorin could almost taste it, metallic on his tongue like it had been last night. 

“If you don't like my burglar, then please, don't damage her! Return her to me!”

Suddenly he was on the floor, all breath knocked out of him, gasping and blinking at the bright light that had come through the doorway. Gandalf was standing there, brandishing his staff. He held Billie protectively behind him, his hand on her shoulder. 

Dwalin and Nori were behind him, their eyes wide with shock. Dwalin had his gun drawn,   
the barrel pointed at Thorin, while his eyes were on Gandalf, as if he was unsure who he wanted to shoot first. 

“Take her then,” Thorin snarled, anger and sadness welling up inside him. He stumbled to his feet, looking every inch a wounded beast. “Worthless, conniving cunt. Stay away from me!” He advanced on his lover and the wizard, as much as he dared. “If you come within a state of me, I’ll make you wish you were dead, and no crooked wizard will be able to stop me!” he threatened roughly. 

Billie turned to leave, the look in her eyes taking his heart with him as she closed the door behind her and walked out of his life for good. 

Or so he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please stay tuned for the second part of Make of a Monster called "Monsters in the Making". I estimate I'll put it out after Labor day! Please subscribe!

**Author's Note:**

> (A gift story to my amazing Beta and friend... who also wrote the great summary for this story) 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you as always to my wonderful beta Beng for her hard work and persistence. She's fantastic!


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